January brings the snow,
makes our feet and fingers glow.
February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.
March brings breezes loud and shrill,
stirs the dancing daffodil.
April brings the primrose sweet,
......
There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams
hurry too rapidly down to the sea,
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.
- For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,
aren't waterfalls yet,
in a quick age or so, as ages go here,
they probably will be.
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,
......
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
......
Name, my Laura, name the whirl-compelling
Bodies to unite in one blest whole--
Name, my Laura, name the wondrous magic
By which soul rejoins its kindred soul!
See! it teaches yonder roving planets
Round the sun to fly in endless race;
And as children play around their mother,
Checkered circles round the orb to trace.
......
And when, in the city in which I love you,
even my most excellent song goes unanswered,
andI mount the scabbed streets,
the long shouts of avenues,
and tunnel sunken night in search of you...
That I negotiate fog, bituminous
rain rining like teeth into the beggar's tin,
or two men jackaling a third in some alley
weirdly lit by a couch on fire, that I
......
Now or never
It is a new day
I need to embrace it
And say to God
Once more
Thanks for keeping me
Alive today
Know I am going to bow
My head
And I am going to pray
......
Rain slips through the morning light,
whispers against leaves and glass.
The sky hangs low,heavy with thought,
and streets shine with quiet reflection.
Inside,the air is still,
a warm mug between steady hands.
Books open like old friends,
and the day unfolds
without needing to arrive.
......
Septemberregen valt zacht,
niet warm,niet koud,
alleen de stilte van tijd
die uit de lucht glijdt.
De bomen zwijgen,
ze kennen deze aanraking.
Een stilte hangt over de velden,
het licht buigt vroeg,
en de aarde begint te vergeten
......
September rain drifts down,
neither warm nor cold,
just the weight of time
slippng from the sky.
The trees do not protest,
they've known this touch before.
A quiet gathers in the fields,
where light bends early,
and the earth begins to forget
......
Septemberregen fällt leise,
nicht warm,nicht kalt,
nur die Stille der Zeit,
die aus dem Himmel sinkt.
Die Bäume schweigen,
sie kennen diese Berührung.
Stille liegt über den Feldern,
das Licht neigt sich früh,
und die Erde beginnt zu vergessen,
......