Transitional Poem
59
29
Those Himalayas of the mindAre not so easily possessed:There's more than precipice and stormBetween you and your Everest.
You who declare the peak of peaksAlone will satisfy your want,Can you distil a grain of snow?Can you digest an adamant?
Better by far the household cockScratching the common yard for corn,Whose rainy voice all night at willCan signify a private dawn.
Another bird, sagacious too,Circles in plain bewildermentWhere shoulder to shoulder long waves marchTowards a magnetic continent.
"What are these rocks impede our pomp?"Gesticulating to the sunThe waves part ranks, sidle and fume,Then close behind them and march on.
