Why do you reach and reach?
Do you dream some day to touch the sky?
Is that beautiful old parchment
In which the sun
And the moon
WE want a man of forty for the job.
One who has enjoyed his little fill of romance.
And suffered intermittent indigestion ever since.
There has been
I bring it to you.
If a lad's but a lad in the heart of a town,
Is it mad he has grown, or a dunce or a clown,
When he crowns common sights with delights of his own?
Its posterior pushing
its long thin body
a procession of waves lifting its head-
a green caterpillar:
Up and down he goes
With terrible, reckless strides,
Flaunting great lamps
With joyous swings—
What animal you are
or whether you are
an animal, I
am too dumb to tell.
Our door was shut to the noon-day heat.
We could not see him.
We might not have heard him either—
Resting, dozing, dreaming pleasantly.