Poems about shift
He Shifts The Stem A Year
without the weariness
the lightning playeth all the while
called to my full the crescent dropped
put the thought in advance a year
saying itself in new infection
it seems a curious town
he shifts the stem a little
cross it, and overcome the bee
she runs without the look of feet
We Dance Round In Living Is To Interfere
my object in living is to unite
the planets seem to interfere in their curves -
were native to the grain before the knife
the meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
and in a little a french touch in that,
we dance round in a ring and suppose,
two and a child,
a sleepy sound, but mocking half,
and slept, the log that shifted with a jolt
He Shifted,
needlessly soon he had his axe-helves out,
once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
he lay and puffed his lips out with his breath,
she, in her place, refused him any help,
in all the country he did command
Striking, Break Their Own;
had wound strings round and round it like a bundle,
and reaching up with a little knife,
throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
and slept, the log that shifted with a jolt
and every fleck of russet showing clear,
a sort of catch-all full of attic clutter,
of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
the curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
assorted characters of death and blight
of carrying his pillow in his teeth;
upon the full moon's side of the first haycock
for heaven and the future's sakes,
her fingers moved the latch for all reply,
spares to strike for the common good,