Evening Poetry, December 15

This Time of No Room

by Jane Tyson Clement

He who has come to men

dwells where we cannot tell

nor sight reveal him,

until the hour has struck

when the small heart does break

with hunger for him:

those who do merit least;

those whom no tongue does praise

the first to know him,

and on the face of the earth

the poorest village street

blossoming for him.

You can find this poem in No One Can Stem the Tide.

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