"Look back!" says Winter.
"You must look back
before the equinox slingshots you off,
sprung through the blackbird's tongue, entranced,
when blossoms so enhance they channel you
to amber buzz - a great bee bumbling,
waggle-dance rehearsing verses,
pointing meadowsweet to summer.
Now in the last lull, look
at the track your feet have beaten;
nod and sigh and sigh and nod;
and very slowly shake your head,
before the dark-stark boughs,
my truths, are clothed,
and all my stores are eaten."
