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At no one's invitation goes the way
of weather: sunshine's recent grand surprise,
uncalled for, spins the irises of eyes;
that fashions spring, but has no will of say
that makes it obligated to the day:
perforce it stands, whatever good it tries,
its intensity in burning belies;
and finally it falls, unmoved, each day.
And what if storms cash in, they too, it must
be said, dispassionately wreak the havoc,
and tear spring's pretty dress to shreds, no trust
but that they pass, as trust resumes repair work.
Thus nature as we know it is our concept,
and sun and storms, and spring, in that adept.
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