FOR time at last to bring forth something new,
There’s much that needs to happen, rain and soil:
And other things that happen out of view,
Or maybe mindfully, by they, the loyal,
Who know the patience of the gardener;
The forward looking, and the leeward glance,
And all the pleas to that one Pardoner
Who dresses up so often as mere chance.
But I have seen enough of days to know
That living is a process, not a thing,
And death a part of what it means to grow,
Like silence part of what it means to sing.
We watch then, trusting, life’s great interplay:
What goes away comes back again someday.