we’ve had a setback to cooler days
as can happen in kansas april
bare toes have purpled to slipper stage
and yet i stubbornly remain unshod
spring, when the impish redbuds shout
‘i’m here!’ in highway, wood and yard
and our fairy ring of lush lily-of-the-valley
mysteriously never blooms
january seems a century ago
while september could come tomorrow
such a strange thing, time, into which we’re woven
we the rebellious, we the redeemed
bound by a concept unstrictured for its Maker
what is time, and when shall it cease being foreign?
in one million yesterdays from tomorrow, perhaps
in an everlastingness of springs, beyond the horizon
somewhere in the neverend of eternity eternal
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