Sonnet V
Since one must have something to be proud of,
Let it be that I have kept them warm
In my comfortable crook of arm;
I have not slapped them on the crying lips
When they came to me and bleated love
And weakness, and despair; I have been kind.
I have not left them in the naked wind;
I have been a harbour to their ships.
Everyone alive must stand in line
Sooner or later, slavering and starved,
Waiting at the door where love is doled
Piecemeal; angel, the next turn is mine.
Here I am, and what have I deserved?
Here I hunger, waiting; I am cold.
