O hear me
when I speak of earth/stars. O hear me when I speak Poetry - a language not dead nor strange to the everyday ear. O hear me when I speak of shrilling cicadas in a dry summer sun; of blazing Orion outshining a city's winter lights. O hear me when I speak of the old/the young the swift runners/the slow speak of those I know/love those I do not know yet love because they love with me the earth/stars. O hear me when I speak Poetry because if you do not I will first forget its sweet syntax then, soon I will have no voice.