Against Nature

Dark holly-trees were my kinsmen once,
My parents a bower of sassafras;
I drank the slimy juice of the yew,
Kissed four-leaf clovers in the grass.

A leaf-strewn path I trod for beer,
Breathed blueberry-flowers for drowsy wine;
Now I grow sober on ferns and air:
What is this wind if not divine?

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