The roots of the objects in the room have rotted,
And like a bud,
Healthy, tender –
The big table threw off a little table,
And the big chair threw off a little chair.
There are two bookcases,
A dying one and a new one –
With pinpoint-sized books and with tender glass.
But from the thick foot if the Goliath grand piano
Grew out a piano the size of a little finger.
With just limpid smiles I shall water the rooms
And I shall raise things my own way,