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Scribbling Poems on a Visit Home
Poor little bastards, is
no provision being made
for their future?
They just scatter like beans --
the pod splits and curls back
spring-like, and out they fl y
during these dry August afternoons
while the tremendous, dazzling thunderheads
white as the original white
of creation, build up in the west
like the springtime fathers that drenched
fi elds they knew not at all,
and passed through never to return.
August 27, 1967