Poem by Edward Estlin Cummings

* * *

raise the shade
will youse dearie?
rain
wouldn’t that

get yer goat but
we don’t care do
we dearie we should
worry about the rain

huh
dearie?
yknow
i’m

sorry for awl the
poor girls that
gets up god
knows when every

day of their
lives
aint you,
                              oo-oo.                dearie

not so
hard dear

you’re killing me

1. I have seen her stealthily frail
2. a fragrant sag of fruit distinctly grouped
3. if learned darkness from our searched world
4. O Thou to whom the musical white spring
5. when unto nights of autumn do complain

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