Living grows 'round us like a skin

To shut away the outer desolation

For if we clearly mocked the furthest deep

We should be dead long years before the grave

But turning about within the homely shell

Of worry, discontent, and narrow joy

We grow and flourish and seldom see the outside dock

That would confound our eyes

Some break the shell

I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls

And tear a hole

And from this cruel slit, stare out across the cinders of the world

With naked eyes

They look both out and in

Knowing themselves and too much else beside