Beyond any doubt the curtains are drawn
the wounds are spread open
to dirt and to hurt
one eerie lie is disclosed after another.
A pile of dead leaves has been blown off the ground
and surrenders the land to hard-hearted cold.
When the frost commands the soil to shiver
the buds have no time to display their delight
while all the plants have fallen from favour
holding their breath in rigid unease.
Could anyone grasp that
below the staunch surface
the truth is growing
in thirsty unrest
to jostle away the stiff and the painful
and press for a time in sunshine and peace.