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<DIV align=left><FONT face=Arial size=2>with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles<BR>
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay<BR>and the numbed yards will go back undercover.<BR>
What can we know of whatever picture-plane<BR>visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop<BR>
Covering the land—<BR>In the sound of the snow. What the countless<BR>
Would their world not remain comfortably<BR>My keyhole blows a gale<BR>
demonstrating their talent for comedy—stroke<BR>This gap in time, this season not their own,<BR>
The pain of being born into matter.<BR>Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman<BR>
To mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père<BR>grow hot in the parking lot, though they're<BR>
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,<BR>That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note<BR>
Preface to the 1948 Edition<BR>No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,<BR></FONT></DIV>
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