The Earth Turns South/Ash-Blossom

by Clement Richardson Wood

ASH-BLOSSOM

Muck and mire climb jauntilyThrough roots, stems, and calyxes,Until they laugh forth as blossoms.

I love blossoms;I love to pack the moist brown tobacco into my pipeAnd puff its twinkling glow to the end,When a fair ash-blossom laughs forth.

Feathery whirls of grayness,Delicately and intricately fashioned,—I knock you eagerly into the wind,To summon again your fellowOut of the moist brown tobacco.