Some Secret Garden
To us the winterís end is signified
By hylas croaking from the budding trees,
Their song like sleigh bells, after having climbed
From hibernation underneath the leaves
And broken branches toward the starry heights,
With vocal sacs swelled up with evening air.
Their chorus chants of those romantic nights
That you and I remember, when our care
Was for some secret garden and embrace,
Where what we took to be ourselves would mime
The course of Nature and pursue a trace
Of fleeting passion as we pulsed through time.
We dream this in the ice of our repose,
Our sleigh bells frozen underneath the snow.