The wind sharpened itself on a rock; A voice sang: - Theodore Roethke

And I dance with William Blake For love, for Love's sake; And everything comes to One,
As we dance on, dance on, dance on.

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay: I'm martyr to a motion not my own; What's freedom for? To know eternity. I swear she cast a shadow white as stone. But who would count eternity in days? These old bones live to learn her wanton ways: (I measure time by how a body sways.)

Was I the servant of a sovereign wish,
Or ladle rattling in an empty dish?