Shadow Self, By Its Nature

Spring tones, the blues— creature sky must come down, For Summer will chip on flowers cut under ploughs, Power now shared by crows long before Autumn's fast, And Winter then, snowing hard with a forest's bare; bony abs. For Summer will chip on flowers cut under ploughs Out of our brief life; peeping, concerned heads, And Winter then, snowing hard with a forest's bare; bony abs— Though it is God in that, that must be wept for; Out of our brief life; their peeping, concerned heads, Power now shared by crows long before Autumn's fast, Though it is God in that, that must be wept for— Spring tones, the blues— creature sky must come down.