I took it apart, swept it, sorted it,
Not a garage and not a house, but my own soul —
What I could, I made sense of and described,
But I must go on living.

I seemed to draw a sum, reached the end,
And beyond the finish — NEW starts,
Laurels CRUMBLE from the wreath,
After school — to the desks again.

Let the wind scatter them, and the rains wash them away —
Dry matches and hydrants on the lawns.
We uncover reserves we never even knew of, —
To talents, talents are added.