The Golden Gourd - Poem by Harry Crosby
What chance have snakes upon an asphalt road
When giant limousines go gliding by,
Of courtesans resolved to gratify
The lust of lovers seeking new abode?
I do not envy the unfriended toad
Nor airships falling from a marble sky
Nor mothers listening to their children cry
What chance have blades of grass on being mowed?
And yet the unmolested Sun rolls on
A ship of gold among the silver clouds
Or else a lady wrapped in silver shrouds
to mock the crescent moon's pale skeleton.
Which strengthens me to live with heart assured
For I have drunken from the golden gourd.
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