I find myself becoming earnest.
Plain as a brown-paper bag.
Straightforward as falling, simple as grass;
Transparent as a window or a clumsy lie.
The wry twist and the daring flourish fade;
They lose a little of their youthful charm.
The blunt, square, cudgeling style gains appeal:
Words in good order, or no words at all.
Maybe silence is the best of all poems.
Maybe candor is the cleverest ruse.
Maybe if you open the book of yourself
To a blank page
The world can write its masterpiece
On your old and innocent heart
Before the book is closed, the story ended,
And the final simplicity falls.
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