Joined to meaningless intention,
Leaning in a golden curve,
Over ivy threaded fences,
Separating turf,
Enthralled explosion of nature,
Between a posy chain particular,
Splendid seed becoming,
Spindles and shoots,
In invisible forces spring,
To futures fruity red,
As the yearly pattern said,
Mutterings of a change,
Brought upon bows and long ships,
Now is time to make.
​Rowan Blair Colver