Poem by Theodore Roethke

Child on Top of a Greenhouse

The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,
My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,
The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers,
Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight,
A few white clouds all rushing eastward,
A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses,
And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!

1. Journey into the Interior
2. The Visitant
3. Once More, the Round
4. The Shape of the Fire
5. The Voice

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