As green withers and falls
It’s good to recall those other seasons
So sprung from desolation
Beneath the last and desperate snow

A boon of tenderness
Determined to catch light in its beams
Lifted itself in ignorant jubilation
Here and there, all unaware
Of its own irrelevant and unfailing
Death

All unaware, in its motishness
That such small impertinence
Begins the crack
Of winter’s back

That such improbable spiraling doom
Begets a new and ancient season
Again and again and again
In the deep and undisturbed
Rhythm of the universe