|As I stood, quietly watching, from a dark-blue wooded hill
(shrouded in mist)
I saw a hand of stone come reaching, rising from the bay.
And as its fingers all extended,
Down there came a swinging scythe!
Slicing off three fingertips,
which fell into the sea.
And the hand retreated slowly, back into the depths.
As it sank it pulled the water with it, and a whirlpool formed
right where the hand went down.
Then this whirlpool was a flower.
It was yellow; I was green.
It had petals in the back lawn
of a house with white walls.