In this between time,
When tender leaves are only wilted;
The ground cold
but not frozen.
When frost toys with life
to take just
This leaf, that flower;
A late bee stunned with cold,
nectar gone.
These are good days,
Days to rejoice and be glad;
Glad of the slow bee
And the brilliant petal,
For the killing frost
will come.
- Patricia Thrushart
http://www.thewatershedjournal.org/
No comments:
Post a Comment