  When I was a young child I slept with a dog, I lived without trouble and I thought no harm; I ran with the boys and I played leap-frog; Now it is a girl’s head that lies on my arm. Then I grew a little, picked plantain in the yard; Now I dwell in Greenwich, and the people do not call; Then I planted pepper-seed and stamped on them hard. Now I am very quiet and I hardly plan at all. Then I pricked my finger on a thorn, or a thistle, Put the finger in my mouth, and ran to my mother. Now I lie here, with my eyes on a pistol. There will be a morrow, and another, and another.
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