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Poem	LET it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone. Time runs with an ax and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins. Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and children and people of this love be clean as a washed stone under a waterfall in the sun. Time is a young man with ballplayer legs, time runs a winning race against life and the clocks, time tickles with rust and spots. Let love go on; the heartbeats are measured out with a measuring glass, so many apiece to gamble with, to use and spend and reckon; let love go on.
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