You press cool lips to my cheek one last time,
Before you turn your back.
You are the north wind,
Pitiless, relentless,
Withering green sap to dry dust,
Bowling the delicate flames of summer
Into sodden drifts.
I am the sedge, sighing in the shallows,
Bending beneath the chill blast,
But always, and ever, I return,
Straight and green,
Silver river-rippling,
Birdsong-swelling,
Sun-glittering,
Unfurling, opulent as rose blooms,
Bright crystal, dew-damp,
With the spring.

