RUMOR WITHOUT MEANING
Take me back, bring my well-heeled schoolman with you,
listen to the fine fettle the chickadee makes. Sit on the
very top-rail of the farmer's fences and watch the faint
glimmer of nature expand. All that is good is coming.
Here, where we've laid down or boots and our wrappings,
it couldn't be cold if it wanted : the world is filled with
good, warm things. This much I know, if all expectations
fail, it is because I have failed them for myself. There is
just no other way to be; we must be good, for good to be.
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