I do not give much belief to the newswrit so simplymade of nothingwho expects every hourto be troubled with fearor hopenow is not in a day or twoI look after itmy little lock
I have come to the height of neglectthe not-done not minded at allgive me a knock on the headwith a rose full of sorrowmy not-doing is madeout of hope and shame
I hear nothingbut a great treethe voices that havebeen with me all my lifecrowd into the crownan oratory of disordercompelling hope for the futurelike an idle boylooking in our facesto see who we might be
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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