Seasons

I take the sleep of trees in winter.
I pull it all within myself and wither
At the bark, but in the pith I gather
That which makes me wake in warmer weather.

I take the bounce of birds in summer,
To test this branch and flit to test another.
Wrapped and moved and seen all by a feather,
Singing songs to all and any comer.

This spark, what is this bit of magic
Trees and I receive when our elliptic
Has a hot streak? (hot, but always tragic;
Always to the freeze with every clock tick)

Hot resolves to cool, this much is clear.
Don’t they say it began in fireball?
And now, is that the winter’s shiver near?
Let go, you leaves and needles, let you fall.