Autumn 1957 • Vol. XIX No. 4 Poetry |

Loneliness Is an Open Cage

568 VERSE LONELINESS IS AN OPEN CAGE Loneliness is an open cage in which I sit, a watching bird, not with eyes white lidded or shoulders hunched between looped wings, but gently fluting hope and whistling soft anomalies. Loneliness is an open cage into which the postman stares, the moneymaker drops a kernel, and at which the sweet-lipped girls simper when there are parades and carnivals around it. There is even a good wife with tempers pleasant and plain, wlho says in romantic asides: but he is not there, he is here within my heart and blood, he has no business in a cage. Do I convey, do I count, do I behold or relay my daily wants enough? They form a song repeating itself in apprehensions more intimate than remorse, but the cage is never forsaken. Loneliness is my open cage in winter's privacy, in summer's flurry; all the year waggles pleasantries round it as 1, I sit wondering why bread is being strewn to sparrows and wrens.

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