The Year

I A storm of white petals,

Buds throwing open baby fists Into hands of broad flowers.

II Red roses running upward,

Clambering to the clutches of life Soaked in crimson.

II Rabbles of tattered leaves Holding golden flimsy hopes Against the tramplings Into the pits and gullies.

IV Hoarfrost and silence:

Only the muffling Of winds dark and lonesome— Great lullabies to the long sleepers.