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Poetry of Amy Lowell
Sword Blades and Poppy Seed

A Petition

I pray to be the tool which to your hand
 Long use has shaped and moulded till it be
 Apt for your need, and, unconsideringly,
You take it for its service.  I demand
To be forgotten in the woven strand
 Which grows the multi-coloured tapestry
 Of your bright life, and through its tissues lie
A hidden, strong, sustaining, grey-toned band.
 I wish to dwell around your daylight dreams,
The railing to the stairway of the clouds,
 To guard your steps securely up, where streams
A faery moonshine washing pale the crowds
 Of pointed stars.  Remember not whereby
 You mount, protected, to the far-flung sky.