Oh, that we were our primal ancestors. In a warm bog a little clump of slime. That from our sap, mute plasm and blind spores, Cool deaths, calm lives to viewless growth might climb. A leaf of seaweed or a dune, wind-fed, Whose stolid base but casual waves would touch. A sea-gull's wing, a dragon-fly's bright head Would be too intricate, endure too much. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN DEEP IN THE QUIET WOOD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON WE PARTED IN SILENCE by JULIA CRAWFORD CORN-LAW HYMN by EBENEZER ELLIOTT PSALM 68 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE STANE STREET by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN JACK FROST AND THE CATY-DID by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |