Saturday, November 9, 2013

Plaint by Theodore Roethke


Day after somber day
I think my neighbors strange;
In Hell there is no change.
Where's my eternity
Of inward blessedness?
I lack plain tenderness.

Where is the knowledge that
Could lead me to my God?
Not on this dusty road
Or afternoon of light
Diminished by the haze
Of late November days.

I lived with deep roots, once:
Have I forgotten their ways—
The gradual embrace
Of lichen around stone?
Death is a deeper sleep,
And I delight in sleep.


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