When I was younger it was plain to me
I must make something of myself.
Older now I walk back streets
Admiring the houses of the very poor:
Roof out of line with sides
The yard cluttered with old chicken wire, ashes,
Furniture gone wrong,
The fences and outhouses built of barrel-staves
and parts of boxes, all
If I am fortunate,
Smeared a blues green
that properly weathered
Pleases me best of all colours.

No one will believe this
Of vast import of the nation.

~ William Carlos Williams