" The Wind Increases

The harried earth is swept; the trees;
the tulip's bright tips sidle and toss -
Loose your love to flow - Blow!
Good Christ, what is a poet - if any exists?
A man whose words will bite their way home - being actual, having the form of motion at each twigtip upon the tortured body of thought; gripping the ground a way to the last leaftip. "

― William Carlos Williams