The Garden

My heart is a garden tired with autumn, Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark, In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April, The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;

Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning, And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain-- The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten-- After the stillness, will spring come again?