the planet on the table - ned rorem lyrics
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ariel was glad he had written his poems
they were of a remembered time
or of something seen that he liked
other makings of the sun
were waste and welter
and the ripe shrub writhed
his self and the sun were one
and his poems, although makings of his self
were no less makings of the sun
it was not important that they survive
what mattered was that they should bear
some lineament or character
some affluence, if only half*perceived
in the poverty of their words
of the planet of which they were part
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