The last of snow on fogsoaked fields,
Our winter slow to leave, when one has lived
Long enough alone,
More to the mist and to occluded views
Than to the sunsharp day, when one has lived
Long enough alone,
The thunderstorm that's soon to come
Will calm the swirling mind, when one has lived
Long enough alone,
The leafless budding rainbright trees
Will tint the dismal hills, when one has lived
Long enough alone,
Rejoicing in the close-at-hand, when one has lived
Long enough alone.
—Taking a form from Galway Kinnell in an alternative direction
