Poem By Norman Lloyd West

Ah, death,
You hateful color,
Why do you stare,
Back at me?

Would I might go,
Into the world,
Out into the wide
World green.

Would I might pluck,
a single leaf,
Weep over every blade
of grass.

Oh death,
You hateful color,
Why have you bound me,
So fast?

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Men And Salt

Fumbling, I arise sunlike
With the waking day risen.
Fumbling, from the sweetness
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Sitting beside the curling water,
I play softly without
Thought to what,
If anything,