Poems

Kikajon

Come not to me for calm or cosset
    Nor from the busy look for ease
Labour we have, but no profit
    And no such bud of no such trees
       As Jesse grew
       Or Jonah knew
    To grow but once abundant leaves.
What shade we have must be our own,
Will not be lent, derived or sown.

We dare not hope for shelter grown
    Up once at night to baulk our heads
From the fresh storm that has come down
    But withers, now, at dawny tread.
       Our bulk is come
       From us alone
    And strength not ours will soon be shed:
Our pleasures and our virtues must
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