It is not heaven: bitter seed <br />Leavens its entrails with despair <br />It is a star where dragons breed: <br />Devils have a footing there. <br /> <br />The sky has bent it out of shape; <br />The sun has strapped it to his wheel; <br />Its course is crooked to escape <br />Traps and gins of stone and steel. <br /> <br />It balances on air, and spins <br />Snared by strong transparent space; <br />I forgive it all its sins; <br />I kiss the scars upon its face.<br /><br />Elinor Morton Wylie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-earth/
