If it is true that Harvard/Andover will welcome my papers
I repent of any more poems being written upon cheap paper
Suspect Mother, though dead, must be rejoicing that at last I am in
This venerable institution (Harvard) which she said
She would scrub floors to see me through
Which I suspect was a lie
That a lot of love and luck and therapy have helped me see
Berkeley's environment not being too shabby a place
Presbyterian mother and Roman Catholic father not understanding
the achievement
Until he was dead and she living with the retired of Cornell.
At least I understood on an intuitive level
Berkeley had something of Harvard's power with vastly better sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem