Theodore Roethke

[sideway.livejournal.com]

Day after somber day,
I think my neighbors strange;
In hell there is no change.
Where's my eternity
of inward blessedness?
I lack plain tenderness.

Where is the knowledge that
could bring me to my God?
Not on this dusty road
or afternoon of light
diminished by the haze
of late November days.

I lived with deep roots once:
Have I forgotten their ways--
the gradual embrace
of lichen around stones?
Death is a deeper sleep,
and I delight in sleep.


I feel dumb, because I copied this into my journal a few years ago without thinking to write down the title. No amount of googling can help me. Woe!