For there is many a small betrayal in the mind
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant’s tail,
but if one wanders the circus won’t find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give—yes or no, maybe—
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

~ William Stafford

Like the Bailey brothers, American poet William Stafford also grew up during the Great Depression.  He was the eldest of three and had to move around from town to town with his family in order for his father to find work.  William also contributed to the family’s meager income by working in sugar beat fields, growing vegetables, delivering newspapers and being an electrician’s apprentice. 

Another interesting fact (of many) about William’s life is that during World War II he was drafted into the U.S. army, but became a conscientious objector and registered as a pacifist.  Instead of active duty, he did alternative service work in Civilian Public Service camps.

William went on to become Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress in 1970 and is the father of the poet and essayist, Kim Stafford.