Not Waving but Drowning Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.

I love people, but I love the thought and memory of them just as much.

Unpopular, lonely and loving, Elinor need not trouble, For if she were not so loving, She would not be so miserable.

My Muse sits forlorn She wishes she had not been born She sits in the cold No word she says is ever told.

Life may be treacherous, but you can always depend on death.

The world is come upon me, I used to keep it a long way off, But now I have been run over and I am in the hands of the hospital staff.

The human creature is alone in his carapace. Poetry is a strong way out.