Four Poems

History

It is the unregarded congruence:The boy who cries ‘Bull’Because he is leading onePast the antique cartWhich the winter’s adventWill convert to firewood.He does not mark itNor will he mark its absence—Himself, the guardianOf a continuity he cannot seeAnd—grant him means—Would injure readily:Admire, but not revereThis inarticulate philosopher.