for love, for poetry, and for eternal life

Father wherever you are 

        I have only three throws 

                bless my good right arm. 

In the haze of afternoon, 

        while the air flowed saffron, 

                I played my game for keeps—

for love, for poetry, 

        and for eternal life— 

                after the trials of summer. 

 

[Stanley Kunitz {1905-2006} from 'The Testing Tree': 3, in Passing Through: The Later Poems, New and Selected]