I received a letter today from Richard Wilbur, the greatest living poet in the English language. I was flattered straight off because he took the time to send one (when I am 93, will I respond to mail?  Will I be alive to respond to mail?).  I was even more flattered that he found my beloved "The Cosmic Purr" "classy and full of life" and took "a non-proprietary delight in the stanzas of 'Kudzu,'" which is, among many things, an homage to his "Thyme flowering among rocks."
 
Here, my friends, is
 
Kudzu: An Immigrant's Tale:
 
    Dirty Japanese         
at customs, he reached out, copped
    feels of rocks and trees,
 
    fences, an out-house. 
Then, once his neediness found
    a lace-curtain spouse
 
    to carry his name,        
he blent in, naturalized,
    and at length became
 
    an up-and-comer
on hills, in hollers, greater
    summer by summer,
 
    till all Dixieland
felt small. Where had he picked up
    this itch to expand?
 
    From shoguns back home?
Noodling through our heady
    American loam?
 
    A yen to wester 
set off his tendrils and now,
    a vast investor,
 
    he has snatched up land
in Texas, Utah even.
    He’s way out of hand,
 
    so far overgrown,
we must complain about him
    as one of our own.