Here come my night thoughts

    On crutches，

    Returning from studying the heavens.

    What they thought about

    Stayed the same，

    Stayed immense and incomprehensible.

    My mother and father smile at each other

    Knowingly above the mantel.

    The cat sleeps on， the dog

    Growls in his sleep.

    The stove is cold and so is the bed.

    Now there are only these crutches

    To contend with.

    Go ahead and laugh， while I raise one

    With difficulty，

    Swaying on the front porch，

    While pointing at something

    In the gray distance.

    You see nothing， eh？

    Neither do I， Mr. Milkman.

    I better hit you once or twice over the head

    With this fine old prop，

    So you don't go off muttering

    I saw something！