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Poem	My mind matches this understand land. Outdoors the pencilled tree, the wind-carved drift, Indoors the constant fire, the careful thrift Are facts that I accept and understand. I have brought in red berries and green boughs- Berries of black alder, boughs of pine. They and the sunlight on them, both are mine. I need no florist flowers in my house. Having lived here the years that are my best, I call it home. I am content to stay. I have no bird's desire to fly away. I envy neither north, east, south, nor west. My outer world and inner make a pair. But would the two be always of a kind? Another latitude, another mind? Or would I be New England anywhere?
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