Yet Another Poem
The joy of buying things for women.
More than a hundred virtuous acts, humane deeds,
more than the lofty spirit, and art,
the happiness of giving gifts to women.
Rejecting everybody (1) and penniless,
putting up with an empty stomach and bedbugs,
getting senile for the rest of it,
I may sleep in a cabin at ship's bottom,
but in nightly dreams and memories,
I’ll watch the purchases I gave women
ascend to heaven, to the blue sky
where drifting clouds are light, transient.
Fabrics with various designs, cheap perfumes.
Rings, fake pearls, from street booths.
Dolls, parasols, chocolate,
all, all, go to paradise. Floreat(2).