My undeserving self grew very, very tired.
With all the counting of them, and I slept.
But, ’twas just to dream again of all these things,
And in my restless sleep, I wept, and wept, and wept.
To a Meadow Lark
AND when I saw him stamping over
My little patch of shrubs and clover,
His steel bright gun held shoulder high
I scarce could check, a smothered cry.
Because I knew your nest was low
So shuddered when I saw him go.
A gunshot and I scarce could see
You had flown screaming to a tree.
O little bird with troubled breast,
A miracle has saved your nest.
I’m sorry you were frightened so,
You should not build your nest so low.
Broken Numbers
A MYSTERY puzzled and vexed me,
Unsolvable, strange and deep.
Perplexed and worn out in spirit
It followed me into my sleep.
Then with eyes that were heavy with dreaming
I drifted from darkness to dawn.
For the raindrops scattered my shadows
With numbers of broken song.
I thought of the heavy mystery
That troubled me yesterday,
It seemed I never could solve it
Or drive it completely away.
And I thought of the thousands of moments
When each, to oneself stands alone,
Thrown back on oneself for the answer
The answer that never comes home.
As I pondered each sad broken number
The raindrops made on the pane,
The shine came to me, came in bundles,
For I heard the song in the rain.
Shine is a guest we have often
Grief being seldom is great.
I have no quarrel with mystery
I have no quarrel with fate.