Reading what they never wrote, Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene.
Your eight-page paperbehind which you huddle, Bawling through the megaphone of big type: 'This is I, the giant.'Edgar Lee Masters
Here today we huddle tight As the darkest heathens might The snow falls chilly on our skin The snow is forcing its way in. Hush, snow, come in with us to dwell: We were thrown out by Heaven as well.bertolt brecht