Page:The Pot of Earth.pdf/45

 How does your garden grow, your garden In the shallow dish, in the dark, how does it grow? To-morrow we bear the milk corn to the river, To-morrow we go to the spring with the pale stalks: Has your garden ripened? She used to water them Morning and evening and the blades grew Yellow a sort of whitey yellowy all Fluffy hairs from a dead skull they say The skulls of dead girls— Won’t it let you die Even, burgeoning from your bones, your dead Bones, from your body, not even die, not just Be dead, be quiet? What is this thing that sprouts