I grabbed my witch’s broom too late to sweep the earth
under the rug. The watchers came to creep the earth.
How could I hide my eyes, and which way turn my feet,
without them watching, hand in grave, to reap the earth?
I put my spell on frothing crowds to pacify
the very rocking waves that ride and leap the earth.
In open sky, I leave the clouds, the jets, the stars,
the everlasting icy wind and weep the earth.
To battlements, I cry. Or just begin to cry.
Where is my girl’s green jacket? She will keep the earth.
Return my trees. Bring back the rocks and rooks, my treasures,
and all streams, swift or slow, the fields, the sheep, the earth.
When my true army carries wounded home, I’ll soothe
and heal the crippled seas, the silver deep, the earth.
