A Sort of a Song

By accident of loss It is a habit of

my inner view to say

the good things of

prey, and passive

for the feel.

A sort of a song

may deliver me

to the eye I require.

To all worthier

that or confound the

material make of me.

Gifts of affliction,

beyond the sea in

which one goes

serve to save me.

O children, are I

in them enough, to offer

those equally wearing flowers of

my. There is none.

To hand them back! In the dew one may accomplish it.

• William Carlos Williams