I forced,
Did take to the mountains
With my children slender;
I forced on them such leaves and twigs
As giving water would listen
Nettles not, crocus few;
We have put lips
To the fern’s uprooted heart
We have prayed for honeysuckle
And woken bees with a start.
I have visited upon these my children
Slender feasts of froze-broke flowers.
And upon their crackling lips
poultice from dug-under peat;
The flowers have gone to children,
every one.
