Let us remember Spring will come
To the scorched, blackened woods, where the wounded
Wait with their old wise patience for the heavenly rain,
Sure of the sky: sure of the sea to send its healing breeze,
Sure of the sun, and even as to
Surely the Spring, when God shall please,
Will come again like a divine
To those who sit today with their great Dead, hands in their
Eyes in their
At one with Love, at one with Grief: blind to the scattered things And changing skies.
