In autumn, when it’s wet the cold, too, falls
And sinks two rows of teeth right to the bone
But now, this season, rain acts like a spring
Into my step, whose gait I surely own 

Before I wake the sparrow’s angel wins
O’er sloth and stirs a trill—a gentle thrill—
That echoes through the fog outside and some
Slow dreams my angel planted sprout up ’til

They take their own and gather up their strength
Which grows one day by dew the next by rain
And though the total movement is on up
I know each season calmly comes again