POETRY IS CHILD'S PLAY Poem by Lucebert

over the cracking egg
wanders a heavenly bode
in search of his antipode
and that art thou

it is possible that one cannot think
on such a small scale it gives rise to annoyance
or one is bored thus much too safe
then one is lost to poetry

there remains only one comfort when dying
thou willest likewise not feel bored
and suddenly then can doll and ball
remembered late let you know
that this was I and that was the universe