The last poem is called "The Weather in Luxembourg."
And it's probably a confusing poem
I guess although it clears up at the end.
I guess I'll go back some time to it.
But the mood of the poem is supposed
to be something like the weather in Luxembourg
and the political climate say in a kingdom, which is probably
the end of something.
It's a small kingdom.
Rains a lot as I remember.
But you pass through Luxembourg on the way to other places
when you go to Europe and you never seem to stay there.
The weather in Luxembourg.
The weather in Luxembourg is like a prayer
that this life could be dismissed as effortlessly
empty of notches.
And I would say without remorse that
mirror this has been my life, the pain and the door.
It's fast asleep.
And this the collapsing day with stars, distant and harmless.
But always at this time I am too calm to welcome even death
sliding through the trees.
He knows where he's not, wanted.
He's been a gentleman all his life.
His wife died in her sleep.
The temperature in Luxembourg is 78 degrees.
The last of a line of unimportant kings
sits in the garden eating lunch.
In the city of the living, his burgers are choosing sides.
There are so many decisions they could make.
Silence, choose at their ears.
They need to rest.
Already in the upstairs rooms, their wives and mothers
settle into green sofas, vowing allegiances to chastity.
They've had enough.
Their soft gum sucked noisily like bowls of clams.
I could turn off as easily.
I want never to have accomplished anything.
To be the last quiet man of my kind, standing in the pasture.
It is nearing the end of the afternoon.
It seems I've been preparing for this a long time
but I can't stop smiling.
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]