The New Yorker - I Have Daughters and I Have Sons lyrics

1. Who is out there at 6 A.M.? The man Throwing newspapers onto the porch, And the roaming souls suddenly Drawn down into their sleeping bodies. 2. Wild words of Jacob Boehme Go on praising the human body, But heavy words of the ascetics Sway in the fall gales. 3. Do I have a right to my poems? To my jokes? To my loves? Oh foolish man, knowing nothing— Less than nothing—about desire. 4. I have daughters and I have sons. When one of them lays a hand On my shoulder, shining fish Turn suddenly in the deep sea. 5. At this age, I especially love dawn On the sea, stars above the trees, Pages in “The Threefold Life,” And the pale faces of baby mice. 6. Perhaps our life is made of struts And paper, like those early Wright Brothers planes. Neighbors Run along holding the wingtips. 7. I've always loved Yeats's fierceness As he jumped into a poem, And that lovely calm in my father's Hands as he bu*toned his coat.