The wind billowing out the seat of my britches, <br />My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty, <br />The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers, <br />Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight, <br />A few white clouds all rushing eastward, <br />A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses, <br />And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!<br /><br />Theodore Roethke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/child-on-top-of-a-greenhouse/
