Or just grumble: “Don’t wake me,” and turn
The nether side of their skulls to their head-slab....
While I ... I their one-year neighbour,
Thrusting up like a willow in spring,
From my hair
Untwine the thick grass-hair carefully,
Unbind the cool roots from my lids,
Straining up, straining up with thin hands,
Scattering the earth like a cloud,
And stopping my ears from the cry,