Here's a poem that was given to me some time back. Unfortunately, there is no author credited on this photo-copied piece of paper I was given. If you know who wrote this, by all means let me know. Regardless, once I post this here I can toss the paper and keep it from traveling from drawer to drawer. ;)
UPDATE: Golfwidow was kind enough to find the author (Richard Wilbur) and send a link for info about the guy. So I'll credit him appropriately here and hope you'll all head out to buy a copy of his Collected Poems 1943 - 2003
Richard Wilbur (from Ceremony, 1950)
A ball will bounce, but less and less. It's not
A light-hearted thing, resents its own resilience.
Falling is what it loves, and the earth falls
So in our hearts from brilliance,
Settles and is forgot.
It takes a sky-blue juggler with five red balls
To shake our gravity up. Whee, in the air
The balls roll round, wheel on his wheeling hands,
Learning the ways of lightness, alter to spheres
Grazing his fingers ends,
Cling to their courses there,
Swinging a small heaven about his ears.
But a heaven is easier made of nothing at all
Than the earth regained, and still and sole within
The spin of worlds, with a gesture sure and noble
He reels that heaven in,
Landing it ball by ball,
And trades is all for a broom, a plate, a table.
Oh, on his toe the table is turning, the broom's
Balancing up on his nose, and the plate whirls
On the tip of the broom! Damn, what a show, we cry:
The boys stamp, and the girls
Shriek, and the drum booms
And all comes down, and he bows and says good-bye.
If the juggler is tired now, if the broom stands
In the dust again, if the table starts to drop
Through the daily dark again, and though the plate
Lies flat on the table top,
For him we batter our hands
Who has won for once over the world's weight.