The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast-
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child-so high-you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
A Girl
Ezra Pound
(1)
Poem topics: child, wind, world, high, tree, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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