Diminutive Me Sleeps Green

Diminutive me sleeps green —
Steeped in the immeasurable dawn bath. . . .
Where the amazing Butterbrook slices down
Throwing up marvelous spray from its cascading
Through the miraculous mountain;
Flowing fabulously to the west at the start of
Terrific day,
Diminutive me sleeps huddled within
My diminutive green tent.

Good-byes are what I sleep,
Since all have gone away,
The days of pretty-soon and come-lately;
Of roses and perfumes,
Of country drives,
Of half-fun and whole-fun,
Those true and not-so-true, friends
Whose names are etched in souvenirs
Upon my desk at home, and
Tucked away within my closeted brow. . . .

From which I recall — awakening,
As a green wind rolls over, sighing,
Rustling my tent flaps and ropes that maintain
It here about me, green;
This is tomorrow, today, now,
Should I sleep longer I would regret the passing shower,
Already I regret too much,
I regret, and love, and . . . that I love,
And I walk, and, they tell me, talk
Nonsense for all my nineteen years,
And, I keep bad hours,
Dream too much,
Am not so much afraid as I should be
Of the sick sad bark from the doghouse;
And I pity life obstinately,
Am clumsy, blush too easily,
Ramble further than is right,
Read not enough,
Say too little,
Think too much,
Write badly,
And wake up
Feeling diminutive and green.