Like the storm thrashing on the earth’s curve
slashes the snarling cliff with its wild claw
as though its rage can never cease until
the whole downs crumble to the ocean floor;
or like the spider snaring for the fly
determinedly spins to eat or else to die
and waits in silence for the twanging thread,
would wait for ever were he never fed;
or like the albatross whose mighty span
carries him on through the Antarctic storm
through months of icy winds and empty sky
full circle to his cliff top in the warm;
fight to the last dry rasping breath
for out of peace comes boredom, then
brain death.

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