These dreams, like dimes, are likewise spent
On baubles, yes, and trivialities.
Once gone, can they be redeemed?
But words are often permanent, they seal
The enterprise when only spoken.
Words we reiterate. They gain a life
All of their own. They haunt the foolish sayer
And her to whom the words were lightly said.
O how the courts have pondered on mere words.*
Turned history inside out to pin them down!
Who said what? Why? And when? And meant for whom?
Words, I'd rather write them here iambically
If they must last a lifetime and beyond,
Give them license to sing as well as curse. *Consider the verbal tide that broke the Water Gate.
Jay Cohen