by Dorothy Livesay
Flesh binds us, makes us one
And yet in each alone
I hear the battle of the bone:
A thousand ancestors have won.
And we, so joined in flesh
Are prisoned yet
As soul alone must thresh
In body’s net;
And our two souls so left
Achieve no unity:
We are each one bereft and weeping inwardly.
From:
Collected Poems: the Two Seasons
Copyright ©:
1972, McGraw-Hill




