Michigan Quarterly Review, October 1st, 2006
And the Americans put Pound in a cage
In the Italian summer coverless
On a hillside up from Pisa in his age
Roofless the old man with a blanket yes
On the ground. Shih is his pocket luck jammed there
When the partigiani with a tommy-gun
Broke in the villa door. Great authors fare
Well; for they fed him, the Americans
And after four weeks were afraid he'd die
So the Americans took him out of the cage
And tented him like others. He lay wry
To make the Pisan cantos with his courage
Sorrow and memory in a slowing drive
(And after five months they told Dorothy
Where Ezra was, and what...
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