Feet

Feet, I am weary of your beat; All day, all year, all life you pass Below me on the street, Driven upon my hearing as the grass Before wild rain and sleet.

You snatch up in your tidal tone The reaching rhythms of my peace And substitute your drone. Until intimidated dreams release The visions they have known.

Feet, I am weary of your stave — The little course your sounds pursue — Weary that I must waive My reaches in subservience to you, Who seek only a grave.