You Have To Eat a Peck-Of-Dirt

you have to eat a peck-of-dirt three little rag-a-muffins sit, heads bent busy, at a small wooden table plunked down there in Shadey Anderson’s hay field dragged from the house to that special spot for tea fine chiana a Christmas doll set placed ever so carefully by grubby play worn fingers an ancient hickory shades promises nuts for the table later, in the fall, when we sit together among the roots borrowed nutcrackers and picks busy preparing a feast for now tea is up the delicately flowered pot carefully filled with “tea” from a puddle beneath the table.