Indian Pipe

    Starkly naked and cold, the stalks of the Indian Pipe rise like wraiths from the
forest floor. A corpse risen from the grave -- the coral-white, waxen plants stand in the
dim half-shade of the deep woods. Subdued by these degenerate, parasitic outcasts, the
whole woods grows silent. Now and then a seared oak or maple leaf rustles dejectedly
down in an effort to hide from prying eyes this black sheep of the plant kingdom. The sun
refuses to shine upon such a spot; birds do not sing. Rejected, shunned by respected forest
plants, the Indian Pipe hangs its head in shame; and around its damp, waxen petals hangs a
cold, musty air of death.

Dorris E. Willows
English II 11
April 29, 1934
Theme No. 11

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