Their Lonely Betters
As I listened from a beach-chair in the shade
To all the noises that my garden made,
It seemed to me only proper that words
Should be withheld from vegetables and birds.
A robin with no Christian name ran through
The Robin-Anthem which was all it knew,
And rustling flowers for some third party waited
To say which pairs, if any, should get mated.
Not one of them was capable of lying,
There was not one which knew that it was dying
Or could have with a rhythm or a rhyme
Assumed responsibility for time.
Let them leave language to their lonely betters
Who count some days and long for certain letters;
We, too, make noises when we laugh or weep:
Words are for those with promises to keep.
-- W. H. Auden
One I can relate to. The closing is especially powerful.
Posted by: Pris C. | February 25, 2023 at 05:37 AM
Graceful, witty, cogent, as usual, from this modern master.
Posted by: David Schloss | February 25, 2023 at 11:51 AM
Thank You Auden
Rymeable poems
always needed
when you read ...
you relief greed
New poems
can’t rhyme anymore
because they want to poet
what they are born for.
Sylva Portoian, MD
Poeted instantly
Posted by: Sylva Portoian, MD | February 27, 2023 at 11:48 AM