He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
- Francisco X. Alarcón - To Those Who Have Lost Everything
- Francisco X. Alarcón - “Mexican” Is Not a Noun
- Folk - "Hickery Pickery, pease scon..."
- Folk - "Robin the Bobbin, the big-bellied Ben..."
- Joseph Brodsky - The End of a Beautiful Era
- Richard Crashaw - Out of Catullus
- Folk - The magic porridge pot
- Mark Jarman - Unholy Sonnet 13
- Sara Littlecrow-Russell - Ghost Dance
- Elizabeth Willis - Steady Digression to a Fixed Point