For a Book of Poetry
- Leafing thru my old love poems—
- how sad, how sad.
- Didn’t I have anything better to do
- at the time? than to write alone
- these consolations of misery?
- There they lie, fallen leaves
- pressed in snow,
- and I want to make them grow?
- Wonder, wonderous, and new wonder.
- Something new, something to impress
- another, love, a new lover,
- the woman I wish I know,
- as the man I wish I were?