Someday
I took what I liked best, and put it into a white cloth bag. I don't know what I'll do with the rest. But I took what I liked most, and drew tight the drawstring. With the bag slung loosely along my shoulder I walked and walked. Then I wrote a poem. I don't know what I'll do with the rest. But someday I'll write a poem about a man with a drawstring held tightly to his chest.