I want to end with a farewell poem.
It's called "A Message From The Wanderer."
And I preface this by reminding you of something.
When I came up here, I just started a poem,
without even saying the title.
I wasn't forgetting how grateful I am for being invited here.
Being invited back here, that's all the better.
I'd like to come again sometime.
[LAUGHTER]
If I could do better, I would, and I'm
going to be trying hard, but I'll end with this farewell.
"A Message From The Wanderer."
"Today outside your prison I stand and rattle
my walking stick: Prisoners, listen;
you have relatives outside.
And there are thousands of ways to escape.
Years ago I bent my skill to keep my cell locked,
had chains smuggled to me in pies,
and shouted my plans to jailers; but always new plans
occurred to me, or the new heavy locks bent hinges off,
or some stupid jailer would forget and leave the keys.
Inside I dreamed of constellations-- those feeding
creatures outlined by stars, their
skeletons a darkness between jewels, heroes that
exist only where they are not.
Thus freedom always came nibbling my thought,
just as-- often, in light, on the open hills--
you can pass an antelope and not know and look back, and then--
even before you see--
there is something wrong about the grass.
And then you see.
That's the way everything in the world is waiting.
Now-- these few more words, then I'm
gone: Tell everyone just to remember his name,
and remind others, later, when we find each other.
Tell the little ones to cry and then go to sleep,
curled up where they can.
And if any of us get lost, if any of us cannot come all
the way--
remember: there will come a time when all we have said
and all we have hoped will be all right.
There will be that form in the grass."
[APPLAUSE]