Poem

A Messenger

/ /

We have taken from the head We have thought We have scarcely named sorrow There is something to obey Struck against a pole Blood, dust Address In the bright sea A monster In the message from the lady He is greater In the presence of the one the two Whatever he urges you Stick, hard and fast— Lunge Suck Linger A messenger Speeding toward the palace In our hands, his pace.