Here’s the draft:
And the cleaned-up version:
Tiny voices sing in clicks and purrs
outside my window, a timeless chant
enshrined in sacred spring
when muddy faces are washed clean.
Outside my window, a timeless chant
of waking, wanting, and hoping,
when muddy faces are washed clean,
stirs the sensuous.
Of waking, wanting, and hoping
I can sing, too; an echo of the season
stirs the sensuous
within me, rising to a cry.
I can sing, too, an echo of the season
bathing in rain and passion
within me, rising to a cry,
an Ēostre aria treading cool water.
Bathing in rain and passion,
tiny voices sing in clicks and purrs
an Ēostre aria, treading cool water,
enshrined in sacred spring.
As a side note, I’ve discovered something about my writing habits by recording the hand-written drafts in my journal: when I want to change something, usually something I’ve just written down, my first instinct is to erase the previous word or phrase completely instead of simply crossing it out. Each time I catch myself, I rewrite the original text and cross it out, then continue with the new so as to preserve all of the poem’s creative elements. I find it interesting that my old habits are so destructive, albeit on a small scale, but this experiment in hand-written drafts has certainly been helpful. Maybe I should graduate to pens, as they are much more permanent than pencil the first time…