A short stroll on a warm day in early winter. The white flowers of black hellebore. The push and pull leaves eddies.
When the sun grows weak, extinguished
By time too long spent in southern seas
And tricks you, who know the season
(The last squash rotting in the field,)
There still comes a prodigal warmth
That settles over the green,
Unlocks the frost,
And stills the coldest wind.
Set loose the scent of leaf-mould,
Flower Helleborus black,
The lovelies grace the forest path
As you pull back.