Modernist+poem-5+A+Girl

A Girl

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.

Ezra Pound