heavy-headed will, . . .
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I walk the purple carpet into your eye
carrying the silver butter server
but a truck rumbles by, . . .
Now you hear what the house has to say.
Pipes clanking, water running in the dark,
the mortgaged walls shifting in discomfort, . . .
Thin are the night-skirts left behind
By daybreak hours that onward creep,
And thin, alas! the shred of sleep . . .
When I have baked white cakes
And grated green almonds to spread upon them;
When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries . . .
Such a book must contain—
it always does!—a disclaimer.
I make no such. For here . . .
Piping down the valleys wild
Piping songs of pleasant glee
On a cloud I saw a child. . . .
Inventing a horse is not easy.
One must not only think of the horse.
One must dig fence posts around him.
One must include a place where horses like to live; . . .
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be . . .
Come when the nights are bright with stars
Or come when the moon is mellow;
Come when the sun his golden bars . . .