Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/43



the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountain, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They did all the talking.

The Mother Folks think a witch who has familiar spirits She could call up to pass a winter evening, But won't, should be burned at the stake or something. Summoning spirits isn't "Button, button, Who's got the button?" I'd have you understand.

The Son Mother can make a common table rear And kick with two legs like an army mule.

The Mother And when I've done it, what good have I done? Rather than tip a table for you, let me Tell you what Ralle the Sioux Control once told me. He said the dead had souls, but when I asked him How that could be—I thought the dead were souls, 29