Dame Poverty Gave Me My Name, And

I Have A Rendezvous With Life.

My Poetry Has Become The Way Of My Giving Out What Music Is Within Me.

What Is Last Year's Snow To Me, Last Year's Anything? The Tree Budding Yearly Must Forget How Its Past Arose Or Set

Father, Son, And Holy Ghost, So I Make An Idle Boast; Jesus Of The Twice-turned Cheek Lamb Of God, Although I Speak With My Mouth Thus, In My Heart Do I Play A Double Part.

Lord, Forgive Me If My Need Sometimes Shapes A Human Creed.