So glad to see something by Edward Thomas, the man Robert Frost went walking with and for whom he wrote "The Road Not Taken," as Thomas said it did not matter which road you took, and Frost was choosy.  The poem may be a private joke and not perhaps the great serious thing most have made of it.  But I am far from sure of that, and do not want to take any reader's pleasure away.  Thomas was, I think, a truly great and very individual poem, and his work deserves to be read and read and reread.

I Am Vertical by Sylvia Plath


But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.