“Little the people wish,”
Says one great ghost in that distinguished box,
“Little they get. Being nor good nor evil,
Except as driven, they desire merely
A bit of salt for cucumbers in May,
A movie once a week, a game to play,
A visit to the zoo, two weeks in June,
Someone with whom to speak, something
To read while eating, someone to touch
Wholly and privately, both hard and soft,
A little self-respect, a place to sleep,
Stories of immortality.
Their whole wish is
Modest and not too urgent till the strict
Inevitable mathematic come to reduce
Little to nothing, almost nothing, a crust,
That some may get still more and more,
they must!”