Along the road where we walk
They spring up.
Variegated multitudes of green
Blossomed in white, yellow,
A rare and pale blue.
They greet the seasons, the months,
The days.
 
They are only weeds.
Yet they stir
Uninvoked fantasies of life
Lived wild by cool brooklets
Sunned in misted fields.
Then let flow time's course,
The years.
 
Warm in vernal light
Leaves unfurl
Promising, insisting on new
Birth of pale innocence.
Through the rainy days
And drought they persist
In youth.
 
Full-leaved and blooming,
Gaining strength,
Fulfilling destined nature's role
In dark shade, bright glow
Of summer's splendored
Ripeness.
 
Grains, fruits of autumn,
Golden-hued
Reflections nod in chilling wind
To launch winged transports.
A melancholic
Message.
 
Bare, stark, leafless now
The roadside
Vegetation hides in winter.
Yet in the snowscaped grave
Hang soft whispers of
The past.