Row on row
You never hear the garden grow
Seeds split
Roots shove and reach
Earth heaves
Leaves unfurl.
Stems pierce the ground.
Pea pods fotten
Vines stretch and curl.
Such growing going on without a sound.
by Stephen CraneI stood upon a highway,
And, behold, there came
Many strange peddlers.
To me each one made gestures,
Holding forth little images, saying,
"This is my pattern of God.
Now this is the God I prefer."