I Hope

TWO POEMS

I HOPE

Old age may be an ample time-

When wagons rumble home with corn

Behind the round-rumped fetlocked mares,

Down fields spread with the crops they have borne.

And in the amber afternoon

The ice-edged evening sends a sharp

Juice-flavoring keenness to the sense,

As fine as first notes from a harp,

To quicken hospitality.

From life's whole distillation blent,

Pour out a slim glass of delight

And empty pitchers of content!