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ON ACORNafter BrechtIMilton Acornnot at first awareThat was my name and what I knew was lifeCome from an Island to which I've often returnedLooking for peaceand usually found strife.'til I came to see it was no pocketIn a saint's pants while outside trouble reigned;And after all my favourite modeOf weather's been a hurricane.The spattered colour of the time has marked meSo I'm a man of many appearances;Have come many times to poetryAnd come back to define what was meant.Often I've been coupledand often aloneNo matter how I try I can't chooseWhich it shall be. I've beenIll-treatedbut often marvellously well-used.What's a man if not put to good use?Nothing's happened I want to forget.What's a day without a notableEvent between sunrise and sunset?My present lover finds me gentleSo gentle I'll be in my boisterous way.Another one was heard to call me noble.That didn't stop her from going away.To be born on an island's to be sureYou are native with a habitat.Growing up on one's good trainingFor living in a countryon a planet.Shall I tell you the soil's redAs a flag? Sand a pink flesh gleamYou could use to tone a precious stone?All its colours are the colours of dreams.Perhaps only the colours I dreamFor I grew under that prismatic skyLike a banner of many coloursAlternately splashed and washed clean.The Island's small . . . Every opinion counts.I'm accustomed to fighting for them.Lord I thank Thee for the enemiesWho even in childhood tempered me.I beg pardonGodfor the insultSaying You lived and were responsible. . . a torturous all-odds-counting mannerOf thinking marks me an Islander.Evil's been primarygood secondaryIn the days I've been boyyouth and man.I don't look to any rule of pure virtueBut certainly not continuance of this damned. . .Damned! Damned did I say? This glorious ageWhen the ancient rule of classes is hitAnd hit again. History's greatest changeIs happening. . . And I'm part of it.


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