Alfred Kreymborg

“ A gray, crumbling chapel, best for the landing:
Too old for man—not too old to be standing:
A home no one visits, come west or come east,
Unless he be harmless, some hermit or priest,
Who walks in a plot shaded green, an arena
Between pater noster and ave maria.
If he should lift eyes and see birds, the chance is:
He'll be but a lover: another St Francis.
SONG SPARROW
He stutters and stammers—a catch in his throat—
Chromatics falter—too many notes float—
Beginnings too eager—scales all uncertain—
Come to a cadence, too careful the curtain. ”

“ Until they come to the end of what's in it.
He runs on a line like a tight-rope walker—
Tries not to look scared—nor to answer a talker.
He might be as deaf as a man who surveys
Two spots with a string for the high wire ways. ”