Lesson

You were immersed in your ‘funny paper,’ —
‘Toonerville Trolley,’ if I remember,
Or solemn jest of some other japer, —
Monday, the second of September.

‘Labor Day.’ And the next day brought you
School (and the sandy floors need sweeping);
And what have these days of summer taught you,
These days in Sunset Beach’s keeping?

Well, we roamed in the swamp of the lumber
Yard in July when the frogs were shrilling
And huckleberries were past all number
And pails too far to the bottom for filling

And an old red rotted ‘funny’ blew over,
Manna to tired little girls sweat-reeking,
The very moment that I, the lover,
Found the treasure I ’d been so seeking.

Ophioglossoides. Mouth-of-the-adder.
I looked at you on the dented sleepers
Of the old yard rails — and the delicate madder
I held. And the arrowhead. And the peepers.

These are your moments, I thought, my darlings;
Each to each, the manna he chooses.
Orchids will follow as plenty as starlings:
Vain is the flower that the spirit refuses.