Leave us something of yourself,
sweet trees, indifferent bees,
spiders wrapping up a summer’s job,
now listless in the chilly breeze.
Leave us something of yourself.
Do not forget these eyes that traced
your spinning nets and pollened toes
and watched you love the sky’s bright face
with fingertips that rose
above the earth in garrulous green.
Leave us here believing
in the hills aglow, again -
and in a churning freshet searching
for what it cannot know,
but, then again,
knows.
It is this season’s yearnings
that foretell the bright returnings.
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