A child said, What is the grass? Fetching it to me will full hands; How could I answer the child?...... I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. There was the hope Dr. Holden had talked about-the grass was a metaphor for his hope. But that’s not all. He continues, Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrance resignedly dropped, Like grass is a metaphor for God's greatness or something.... And then soon after is itself a child.... And then soon after that, Or, I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones. Growing among black folk as among white.

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