The Store

I went to the store, To buy a fresh diet, And they said, All we have is dyed.

I went to the window, To look out at nature, But the trees wore cloaks Of the same grey plaster.

The birds sang loud, Of things they never touched, And I stood, like a core, Of a blasted lime tree, Sunk in remorse, at the door.

• Elizabeth Palmer Peabody