A Girl

By Ezra Pound


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.

If you liked this you should check out these other great classics!

About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter, By Charles Bukowski

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, By Mary Frye

Still I Rise, By Maya Angelou

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