Notes From the Higher GroundThomas marked the passing dayNot with clocks and gears,Nor cakes and candles every year,But by the lifetimes he could layBeneath the covers, where he'd stayUntil he'd shake so hard from fearHe'd wake and scream himself to sleep.He'd glare outside, his lips aquiver,And as he felt the world grow cold,His spirit weary, weak, and old,He'd muster strength enough to shiver,Breath enough to curse his liver,Search in vain for meek or bold,Grow hoarse from days spent counting sheep.From in the lonely room he pinedAnd willed the pavement folk to lookAbove them at the pains he took;To bankruptcy he paid them mind,But