THERE'S ONE DAY cold, the next day warm,
The Spring, capricious in its whim;
The child runs and plays in snow,
Then sees a next when all will swim
In streams and pools of sunny March,
Beside green fields of Summer-soon:
There's one day white, the next day green;
It's all a ludicrous cartoon.
THE FIELD, it beckons to the young,
And to the old, the in-between;
But soon the wind will keening come,
And gray and white will cover green.
There is a rhythm, mad and great,
That all must learn and feel to know
We think that we're in charge, when we
Are just part of the ebb and flow.
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