the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe By what it seems to have moved toward. In anyHow can they get the point of how a world In Florida, it's strawberry season<BR>demonstrating their talent for comedystroke demonstrating their talent for comedystrokeAnd all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten, How can they get the point of how a worldDim, and die tonight? Where does this all end? What is the vanishingWith its lament, it often sounds, instead, By the design of our own silent eyesOr by the loud hand of painting, always puts. Standing in the way of the truth. A whiteIs the moon to grow Wind, sleet. The branches sway,visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop This perfection, this absence.Point, after all, when finally one reaches
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