In the shape of this night, in the still fall of snow, Father
In all that is cold and tiny, those little birds and children
In everything that moves tonight, the trolleys and the lovers,
Father
In the great hush of country, in the ugly noise of our cities
In this deep throw of stars, in those trenches where the dead are, Father
In all the wide land waiting, and in the liners out on the black water
In all that has been said bravely, in all that is mean anywhere in the world, Father
In all that is good and lovely, in every house where sham and hatred are
In the name of those who wait, in the sound of angry voices, Father
Before the bells ring, before this little point in time has rushed us on
Before this clean moment has gone, before this night turns to face tomorrow, Father
There is this high singing in the air
Forever this sorrowful human face in eternity’s window
And there are other bells that we would ring, Father
Other bells that we would ring.
“At the New Year” by Kenneth Patchen

Notes

  1. nowaitninjas reblogged this from gooddrumbreak
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