John Berryman - Dream Song 385 lyrics

My daughter's heavier. Light leaves are flying. Everywhere in enormous numbers turkeys will be dying and other birds, all their wings. They never greatly flew. Did they wish to? I should know. Off away somewhere once I knew such things. Or good Ralph Hodgson back then did, or does. The man is dead whom Eliot praised. My praise follows and flows too late. Fall is grievy, brisk. Tears behind the eyes almost fall. Fall comes to us as a prize to rouse us toward our fate. My house is made of wood and it's made well, unlike us. My house is older than Henry; that's fairly old. If there were a middleground between things and the soul or if the sky resembled more the sea, I wouldn't have to scold. my heavy daughter.