A child sells chicle at the Border.
Williams who loved Babies was Annoyed by them.
Especially if they were asking for Pennies.
We are all Poets We all get Perturbed.
School never meant much to the Absentee
Who was once just a baby himself right?
Learned to make it by dying each night
awakening to the sunlight's Beauty
As a new memory forgets the past
puts it inside of a paper envelope
Just like a Poet is likely to do
Roll the whole Universe into a Mast.
Propel it toward the Passion's Fire
Into the form of a Child's Figure
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