And where drops the feet, a mild scintillation Springs in the splash of the puddle here And there and ‘yond the lawn Reaching for the vindication Of gun wrappers, ‘butts, and other Brazen trash on the damp mulch. Yet, these rains cry down with passion Found not but in the ***** of home —From very far away —And very much alone This seed of refuse, fertility yet sown Sprouts the vine of rebellious fruits Sneaking serpentine to the edge of the blazing sun Embracing the split-wood and claiming The hedge-proper its own. And though you can’t cry The world does it for you Its tears made a forest so much higher Than I; in meadows pert You’ll show me a locket Trodden in dirt, I’ll show you a flower that grew in the hurt And grows to the top, the burgeon-trees lead From one, little piece of trash From one refuse seed.