My house is torn down——

    Plaster sifting， the pillars broken，

    Beams jagged， the wall crushed by the bulldozer.

    The whole roof has fallen

    On the hall and the kitchen

    The bedrooms， the parlor.

    They are trampling the garden——

    My mother's lilac， my father's grapevine，

    The freesias， the jonquils， the grasses.

    Hot asphalt goes down

    Over the torn stems， and hardens.

    What will they do in springtime

    Those bulbs and stems groping upward

    That drown in earth under the paving，

    Thick with sap， pale in the dark

    As they try the unrolling of green.

    May they double themselves

    Pushing together up to the sunlight，

    May they break through the seal stretched above them

    Open and flower and cry we are living.