'Twas a frosty day
eager winds from the East,
mounds of spuds, dressed in clay
under comfort of yeast.

Like a Mari-o-nette
you performed on your stage.
Of the devils you met
only I was the sage.

You gave in when you found
that by counting the hours,
you'd be long in the ground
when the Bamboo flowers.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-the-bamboo-flowers/