Poems

THUS SANG THE UNCOUTH SHEPHERD . . .

Friend, you were sleeping when I wisely saw
that large but simple fact: act
the blacksmith way. Strike at the white
iron, not grope at latent red.
Wisdom is doing.

So, I am even grateful: you who taught
by contraries, not just to halt,
pose, orate. The working dog. One look,
he bounds up the slope; however
steep to the sheepfold.

Yet in these times, hardly. Now
much is changed for the worse. We do not know
how simple facts will end. Therefore I opt
now for the lowland life. Earthiness,
dumbness . . . doggedness. Yes,
...