Here's an old-fashioned poem of the kind written before 1950,
usually entitled "Untitled."
One day I took a pebble from
an East Sea beach and put it in my pocket
but it jumped back out, shrieking.
As it hurtled off into the distance,
it failed to make the slightest sound.
It had no idea of the strong emotions I was longing for.
Out at sea are flocks of seagulls
ready to peck out and swallow facile words.
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