Poetry Is About The Grief. Politics Is

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day.

But He Had Gone His Way, The Grass All Mown, And I Must Be, As He Had Been - Alone, As All Must Be, I Said Within My Heart, Whether They Work Together Or Apart.

So Was I Once Myself A Swinger Of Birches. And So I Dream Of Going Back To Be.

Before I Built A Wall I'd Ask To Know What I Was Walling In Or Walling Out, And To Whom I Was Like To Give Offence. Something There Is That Doesn't Love A Wall, That Wants It Down.

The Father Is Always A Republican Toward His Son, And His Mother's Always A Democrat.