Poetry Is An Echo, Asking

Pile The Bodies High At Austerlitz And Waterloo. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work- I Am The Grass; I Cover All. And Pile Them High At Gettysburg. And Pile Them High At Ypres And Verdun. Shovel Them Under And Let Me Work. Two Years, Ten Years,and Passengers Ask The Conductor- What Place Is This? Where Are We Now? I Am The Grass. Let Me Work.

To Those Who Had Ordered Them To Death, One Of Them Said: “we Die Because The People Are Asleep And You Will Die Because The People Will Awaken.”

I Take You And Pile High The Memories. Death Will Break Her Claws On Some I Keep.

The Scholars And Poets Of An Earlier Time Can Be Read Only With A Dictionary To Help.

Let Your Heart Look On White Sea Spray And Be Lonely. Love Is A Fool Star. You And A Ring Of Stars May Mention My Name And Then Forget Me. Love Is A Fool Star.