Once by the Pacific
The shattered water made a misty din.
Great waves looked over others coming in,
And thought of doing something to the shore
That water never did to land before.
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,
The cliff in being backed by continent;
It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
There would be more than ocean-water broken
Before God’s last Put out the Light was spoken.
The wrinkled face on the stamp, like old tree bark, reminds us that living is hard. The poem reminds us that there are powers beyond us. Yes, we live hard lives, each of us, and we become oppressed by a world that takes little account of our small frames. All of us become minuscule in the larger, viscous parade of Time, which marches over us whether we are factory workers (read: union members) or governors, whether we are beggars or kings.