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More poems by Theodore RoethkeTheodore Roethke | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (1) | Books by Theodore RoethkeBooks by Theodore Roethke

The Reckoning

Theodore Roethke

 
All profits disappear: the gain
Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
And now grim digits of old pain
Return to litter up our home.

We hunt the cause of ruin, add,
Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;
For all our scratching on the pad,
We cannot trace the error down.

What we are seeking is a fare
One way, a chance to be secure:
The lack that keeps us what we are,
The penny that usurps the poor.

Added: 16 Jan 2002 | Last Read: 20 Jan 2018 7:20 PM | Viewed: 7886 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2498/ | Viewed on 20 January 2018.
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