I Am Not A Teacher. I Am

Ants Are A Curious Race

Like A Piece Of Ice On A Hot Stove The Poem Must Ride On Its Own Melting.

I Have Been One Acquainted With The Night. I Have Walked Out In Rain - And Back In Rain. I Have Out Walked The Furthest City Light. I Have Looked Down The Saddest City Lane. I Have Passed By The Watchman On His Beat And Dropped My Eyes, Unwilling To Explain. I Have Stood Still And Stopped The Sound Of Feet. When Far Away An Interrupted Cry Came Over Houses From Another Street, But Not To Call Me Back Or Say Good-bye; And Further Still At An Unearthly Light, One Luminary Clock Against The Sky Proclaimed The Time Was Neither Wrong Nor Right. I Have Been One Acquainted With The Night.

Nothing Not Built With Hands Of Course Is Sacred. But Here Is Not A Question Of What's Sacred; Rather Of What To Face Or Run Away From. I'd Hate To Be A Runaway From Nature.

If We Couldn't Laugh We Would All Go Insane.