When all earth seems to sleep in drifts of snow
Suddenly a cardinal may sing
And skeletons of dead leaves madly blow
Among the newly burgeoned buds of spring;
Half past midsummer’s forenoon simmering
Sumac with one crimson leaf as plum
Becomes fall’s herald; southbound geese take wing
From frozen fields that harbor a perfume
Distilled when meadow sweet
was in full bloom;
In every season present, future, past
Are woven as if once upon a loom
Of timelessness, our own lives threads held fast