Theodore Roethke

(1908 - 1963 / Michigan / United States)

The Reckoning - Poem by Theodore Roethke

All profits disappear: the gain
Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
And now grim digits of old pain
Return to litter up our home.

We hunt the cause of ruin, add,
Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;
For all our scratching on the pad,
We cannot trace the error down.

What we are seeking is a fare
One way, a chance to be secure:
The lack that keeps us what we are,
The penny that usurps the poor.


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Read poems about / on: home, pain, hunting



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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