Marianne Moore

Feed Me, Also, River God

Lest by diminished vitality and abated
  vigilance, I become food for crocodiles—for that quicksand
  of gluttony which is legion. It is there close at hand—
     on either side
     of me. You remember the Israelites who said in pride
 
and stoutness of heart: “The bricks are fallen down, we will
  build with hewn stone, the sycamores are cut down, we will
  change to cedars”? I am not ambitious to dress stones, to
     renew forts, nor to match
     my value in action, against their ability to catch
 
up with arrested prosperity. I am not like
  them, indefatigable, but if you are a god, you will
  not discriminate against me. Yet—if you may fulfill
     none but prayers dressed
     as gifts in return for your gifts—disregard the request.
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