When in Time’s autumn
The trees are bare,
Never to flower again;
Then will some girl lament,
As I am doing now?
The dry robs water from the air,
Leaves nothing for me to breathe.
In early winter, faraway sister
Merry, melancholy, fate-stabbed—
Will you gasp too?
Then in the Decembers and Januaries,
Of bitter cold, and layers and layers of woollens for me,
You went out into snow;
In a thin, white, muslin gown—
Clung, and wept for the tree, asleep for eternity.
The year will wake for me.
Sweet winds of sap and song.
My trees are tender green.
The mango trees are golden and russet in flower.
I breathe – in an ecstasy!
You, buried your world long ago,
And I forgot.