[sverige]

I remember hearing the sick child story from a professor -- actually, I think the professor had elaborated the story into the death of Williams' daughter, if I remember correctly -- and immediately hating the poet and the poem.

After thirty five years and an explanation from the poet's mouth, I rather like the poem and the poet, and hate that professor. Thankfully, I can't remember his name, though I can still see his smug mustache under his horn-rimmed glasses.

[pcrh]

I'm amused at the sick child story. At first reading what came to my mind was how the chickens might for a brief time see a red barrow with food as their whole world.