A ball will bounce; but less and less. It's not
A light-hearted thing, resents its own resilience.
Falling is what it loves, and the earth falls
So in our hearts from brilliance,
...
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Oh, on his toe the table is turning, the broom's Balancing up on his nose, and the plate whirls On the tip of the broom! , what a show, we cry: The boys stamp, and the girls Shriek, and the drum booms And all come down, and he bows and says good-bye. This is a good stanga
I love this poem! Read it in an anthology on an airplane trip, a year or so ago.
This poem was the subject of my final exam in Modern British & American Poetry at UCONN in 1960!