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Here is the famous T.S. Eliot poem, The Hollow Men. There is rain at dawn, and some birds. And one might pause over how the same words hold between poets, across continents, at different time periods; the rose in Eliot and the rose in Rilke, the tone of a Franz Wright rose and the tone of Dickinson–does the archetypal image behind the world, held in the essences of the poet liberate its meaning to us, and, as always, what kind of meaning are we dealing in?
It is short and only a fragment to take us somewhere between longer episodes.
Also, I started off with just a few lines from the poem “Ash-Wednesday“