Grass extends forevermore, unceasing horizon of green;
here in this garden, bushes bloom and burst,
spiraling in a sea of sweet spring.
In things both seen and unseen,
beauty is life nursed;
a spray of soul, the spring returned;
oh, gentle thing, a simple wisp, a feeling long not felt.
Far cry from the whips of winter,
further still from the scorch of summer.
I am happy, here, on this walk.
Skipping, cheerful, I do not spot–
a pinecone, lovely thing,
a birth, a child, soon to be;
but its marvel I do not see,
now a life lay dead next to me.
