Blue Trowel Nathan Rich Is there no dirt left in the pit first eyed by Neanderthals with rocks and sticks? Is there no room left to dig? Homer and Chaucer and Swift Hacked and hacked with shovels. Hemingway and Vonnegut blasted great rocks to rubble. And now Collins and Gorman excavate daily. Is there no dirt left for me And my small blue trowel? No emotion left to ponder? No tragedy to lament or Ode to sing? Or is the ever churning spirit faced with an infinite pit? Asking, pleading to be turned and worked, Slowly reaching nothing but new depths. Either way I, With my small blue trowel, Cautiously Begin To dig.
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