SF (June 17 1942 / Troy New York)

Whose Words These Are Only God Knows


Whose woods these are only God knows
Sparse and bare the trees
A pleasant morning in the hottest time of the year-

My task here is no more-

The man I took care of for one year and one half is in his grave
His kind and good wife said goodbye
With a gift for my daughter and her child
And a compensation check for me.

What Promises are there for me to keep now?
In these last years
Before I too fade and die?

The woods are light and small
And the Developers will soon be here-

I look up out at the Hill of the Holy city
A soft calm wind blows-
Never have I been so still inside-
And miles to go before I sleep?
The City sad and light and deep.

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