"The poem is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful. And in the end, the poem is not a thing we see - it is, rather, a light by which we see - and what we see is life."
What a wonderful writer this man was! If you haven't yet read & experienced his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, All the King's Men (1946), do avail yourself of the pleasure. Meanwhile, revel in and savor his poem,
Tell Me a Story
[ A ]
Long ago, in Kentucky, I, a boy, stood By a dirt road, in first dark, and heard The great geese hoot northward. I could not see them, there being no moon And the stars sparse. I heard them. I did not know what was happening in my heart. It was the season before the elderberry blooms, Therefore they were going north. The sound was passing northward.
[ B ]
Tell me a story. In this century, and moment, of mania, Tell me a story. Make it a story of great distances, and starlight. The name of the story will be Time, But you must not pronounce its name. Tell me a story of deep delight.