However others calculate the cost, To us the final aggregate is one,...
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He shall eat flowers, Chew honey and spit out gall. They shall all smile...
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As groceries in a pantry gleam and smile Because they are important weights...
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We too are ashes as we watch and hear The psalm, the sorrow, and the simple praise...
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In the tight belly of the dead Burrow with hungry head And inlay maggots like a jewel.
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We ask for no statistics of the killed, For nothing political impinges on...
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One day beside some flowers near his nose He will be thinking, When will I look at it?...
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The good poet sticks to his real loves, to see within the realm of possibility. He never tries to hold hands with God or the human race.
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Give me the free and poor inheritance Of our own kind, not furniture...
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