'God keep me from ever completing anything. This whole book is but a draught—nay, but the draught of a draught.'
Melville, Moby Dick
for my distant ghost, who knows something of tales
No Light Task
Who has the nerve, the beaten, cold-forged steel,
Yet the wit, gentled by nature, deviled
By time, well born, borne well, to pick up that
Which, being left a foundling on cold church steps,
Orphaned, was set out to be tripped upon,
Found and nurtured? Who? No one, not one, or
It would be done; it is not done, will not
Be done, cannot be done, should not be done;
For what was left undone is not undone;
Would be undone by ho-hum men; one man,
One too far past, whose Queen Mab rose again
To paint dreams on Stubb; who but he, and he
Will not? Who? Better to leave that penny
On the ground, saunter on, gauge clouds, whistle.
Poetry by jim
Read 870 times
Written on 2017-06-30 at 17:54
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