I thinned the oaks

All during the long thin dampness

Of Spring.

I took dead ends only,

And hopeless ambitions at the stumps.

I swept away the fall of leaves

And the damp death of irises,

Scalped the fescue and undressed the ferns.

I windowed the green wall of ivy

With panes of leaden sky,

Opening it to neighbors

And, in good time, the moon.

Then I rested.

I will tell you,

If you visit this prettiness,

That before there was a garden,

There was life that I killed

In the rhododendron's name,

Covering my tracks

With chips that pale

When the sun comes back.