Poets

It's fruitless in this bleakness to seek zest Or cheerfulness to brighten up your gloom: For what bird here will ever build its nest? What fragrant rose in here will ever bloom?

Should you, my soul, who sailed to distant shores And traced the founts of sweet serenity, Be vexed and irked by those insidious frauds Whose souls are fraught with spite and enmity?

(A Haiku) The Lilliputians are being themselves again,