A Plea to God (for Quieter Men)

Make a man who can motor, without
hurling Mjölnir across the calm valley
where the river winds in sluggish luxury
and the squeals of laughter roam about

undisturbed, traversing the mended wall
into the spillage of the farmer’s grove
where apple-laden trees divulge their trove
and spread fresh-plucked fruit for all who call.

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