Eyes open to snow-slathered earth
the time is come, the nourishment sent,
swollen in form for the raw preparations;
present's perspirations soaking my brow and the blooms
of the blackthorn blessing my womb,
filled future engagements with truths they endow
the season's soon end, a return of the hero-
past's promise now bellows to worthiness' tide.
Retreat of the twilight glimpsed in isolation,
the gloaming, she gallops, for light's prophesied.
Now time for the tilling, so turn the soil truly
now hurry your last load of firewood gained-
so fickle the seasons, so prone late or early
new life's affirmation from old vows sustained.