All poetry is lubricant to me
Without which mind and soul jerk to a halt;
With it, they work together happily
Luxuriating in the fresh gestalt
Composed of poems differently mixed
That flow along the passage of my brain.
If I am broken, and so must be fixed,
There is no better comfort for my pain
Than poems poured into my willing ear.
Let therefore poetry always surround
The placid setting of the passing year
That I may ever hear its joyful sound
And function as a man; for if it goes
How shall I ever solace all my woes?
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