The brittle graying wind sputters its last,
Get low, get low.
The aimless darkness, red to the last,
Too tired, too tired

So let us celebrate
Nothing to lose
Nothing to win
Clean, free blows, all unawares,
Open heart,
Open sky.

Joy for stale weeping buds
For springing green steps
For all the blue dizzy climbing
For all increase and debit

Here it is, here it is,
You don’t even have to take it.