There are hot green trees with brown bodies;
They lean toward one another,
They touch extended arms,
And sigh . . .
The colors run riot,
Splashed with parrots, wild-tongued and gleaming.
I look through the myriad trees,
I strain my eyes
For the mystery that lies beyond;
Just past that opal orchid
There are strange things.
I can smell the swamp
And the sweet dryness of the hot dust.
I fell over that log one day,
And bruised my knee .
I had to come back.
Just now some one calls:
"Please come and set the table?"
And I still don't know
What lies beyond that clump of ferns.
I remember, anyway, that it is only wallpaper.
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)