Classic Poem

The fire of the seed is in her pose
upon the clipped lawn, alone

before the old white house
framed in by great elms planted there

symmetrically. Exactly in the center
of this gently sloping scene,

behind her table of squash and green
corn in a pile, facing the road

she sits with feet one by the other
straight and closely pressed

and knees held close, her hands
decorously folded in her lap. Precise

and mild before the vegetables,
the mouth poised in an even smile

of invitation — to come and buy,
the eyes alone appear — half wakened.

These are the lines of a flower-bud's
tight petals, thoughtfully

designed, the vegetable offerings
in a rite. Mutely the smooth globes

of the squash, the cornucopias
of the corn, fresh green, so still,

so aptly made, the whole so full
of peace and symmetry . . .

resting contours of eagerness