Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/98

 for the blow on the buttocks that will drive him another step forward— step forward to what? There is no land, no house, no barn, he has ever owned; he sits uncomfortable on chairs you might invite him to: if you did, he'd keep his hat in hand against the moment when some silent pause for which he hearkens with his ear to one side bids him move on— move on where? It doesn't matter. He has learned to shrug his shoulders, so he'll shrug his shoulders now: caterpillars do it   when they're halted by a stick. Is there a sky overhead?— a hope worth flying to?— birds may know about it, but it's birds that birds descend from. 84