Summer Is a Second Season

April is gone, Summer is a second season, The landscape is now; There is no reason For past or future thinking, The plow lies in the shed, And the land is dead To all motion save the slow Brilliant blossoming of summer.

Only later will the furrowed brow Perceive the seasons' separations And remember and understand Harsh imprint of spring.

Then a scarecrow will look down Longingly on creation And with snowfall, fall Beneath winter's covering.