Katydids

Katydids scraped in the dim trees,
And I thought they were little white skeletons

Playing the fiddle with a pair of finger-bones.

How long is it since Indians walked here,
Stealing along the sands with smooth feet?

How long is it since Indians died here

And the creeping sands scraped them bone from bone?

Dead Indians under the sands, playing their bones against strings of wampum.

The roots of new, young trees have torn their graves asunder,

But in the branches sit little white skeletons

Rasping a bitter death-dirge through the August night.