Duet
(I sing with myself)
Out of my sorrow
I'll build a stair,
And every to-morrow
Will climb to me there--With ashes of yesterdayMy fortune is made
In its hair.
Of a stab in the side,
My debts are paid
In pennies of pride--Unminted counsThe stones that I eat
In a heart I hide,
Are ripe for my needs,
My cup is complete
With the dregs of deeds--Clear are the notesI carry my pack
Of my broken reeds.
Of aches and strings,
Light with the lack
Of all good things--But not on my back,
Because of my wings!