Solstice
Like Colossus over the port of Rhodes,
golden in the sun,
dwarfing the ships at his heels,
So the goat before the door,
gray in the morning quiet,
mazing the way for kitties with her hooves.
Penelope, who for twenty years the return
of world-wand'ring Ulysses awaited,
weaving and reweaving her tapestry,
Was not more constant than the goat awaiting
the wider-wandering cats,
chewing and rechewing her cud.
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