A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom.
You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day...
Your mother named you. You and she just saw Each other in passing in the room upstairs,...
You made the eolith, you grew the bone, The second more peculiarly your own, And likely to have been enough alone.
You mean about success, And how by its own logic it concentrates All wealth and power in too few hands?
Were they told they were free And persuaded to see Something in it for them?
Westerners inherit A design for living Deeper into matter— Not without due patter Of a great misgiving.
We've looked and looked, but after all where are we? Do we know any better where we are,...
We turned to other things. I haven't any memory have you?...
What if it should turn out eternity Was but the steeple on our house of life That made our house of life a house of worship?
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