"What did Thought do?"
                                   "Stuck
a feather in the ground and thought
it would grow a hen."
                             Rod
by rod we pegged the drill for sweetpea
with light brittle sticks,
twiggy and unlikely in fresh mould,
and stalk by stalk we snipped
the coming blooms.

                 And so when pain
had haircracked her old constant vestal stare
I reached for straws and thought:
seeing the sky through a mat of creepers,
like water in the webs of a green net,
opened a clearing where her heart sang
without caution or embarassment, once or twice.

(Heaney, Sweetpea)