From “Hearts, Books of Love” [“We pass through,—flocks of white geese”]
We pass through,—flocks of white geese
strip the seasons, above us
a few red and ocher leaves
gasp at the tips of their twigs, yield
soon they brush against us, soon they pile up
at our feet, everything turns back to the wind
that torments your voice.
Those days will return, the garden cannot bloom
without the rain shower that assails it
and then falls asleep, peaceful
the child still in tears.
Structure
11 lines · 3 stanzas