Come now, my child, if we were planning to harm you, do you think we'd be lurking here beside the path in the very darkest part of the forest?
Kenneth Patchen'THIS ROOM HAS MYSTERY LIKE A TRANCE' This room has mystery like a trance Of wine ; forget-me-nots of you Are chair and couch, the books your Fingers touched. And now that you Are absent here the silence scrapes A secret rust from everything; While sudden wreaths of sorrow's Dust uncover emptiness like halls To stumble through, and terror falls
Kenneth Patchen