THE CRIB
I sought immortality
Here and there—
Into the air:
A hostage to ink;
And bought him drink.
Of the flesh;
And began afresh—
How they would laugh!
My epitaph....
When the dusk was thin
Rites begin:
I heard the tender
Soothings said
A small sweet head.
It came to me
Immortality!
And then one night
When the dusk was thin
I heard the nursery
Rites begin—