Poetry Archives

Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are.
Come, my friend, and remember
        that the rich have butlers and no friends,
And we have friends and no butlers.
Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried.

Dawn enters with little feet
        like a gilded Pavlova
And I am near my desire.
Nor has life in it aught better
Than this hour of clear coolness
        the hour of waking together.