It sort of looks like he's laying his finger beside his nose, but he is actually pointing right out at YOU. (This is what he would do if you were here.)
Children's voices in the orchard
Between the blossom- and the fruit-time:
Golden head, crimson head,
Between the green tip and the root.
Black wing, brown wing, hover over;
Twenty years and the spring is over;
To-day grieves, to-morrow grieves,
Cover me over, light-in-leaves;
Golden head, black wing,
Cling, swing,
Spring, sing,
Swing up into the apple-tree.
--T.S. Eliot
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Very best site. Keep working. Will return in the near future.
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