Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Onto my frozen fingers.
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
What? What can you do?
Gray the cloud-like oaks
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
That this mud draws on the stone.
Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snow
XIII. The Route to the North
XIII. The Route to the North
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
My only thought is for what has
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Onto my frozen fingers.
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
What? What can you do?
Gray the cloud-like oaks
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
That this mud draws on the stone.
Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snow
XIII. The Route to the North
XIII. The Route to the North
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
My only thought is for what has
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