April Morning, 1966

Something very different today. A fresh poem, hot from the pen. Reactions appreciated!

April Morning, 1966

There stood the familiar row of homes--
my street--my block--

and in a parallel line the ancient maples--
slow lives--brave and serene--

and between these trees and these houses
the sidewalk--my path--my way--

poured in another age--
cracked and buckling with the slow grinding pressure
from beneath of mighty roots--

and above all this, the incomprehensible sky--
and under it all, the teeming earth--

and in the middle of it all, the simple me--
Child-fool in the Promised Land--

so how could not my soul have whispered then,
"For you . . . for you . . . for you . . .. "