Untimely

You have come home to a winter,
My starling,
To the blades of grass
Enamelled in frost;
The clouds have grizzled over
A terrain of brown trees
Leaflessly dreaming,
Bereft of sap.
Child of celestial bodies, now
Where’s your worm,
When even the crows
Duel in hunger
In a wind harsh and stripping
Away the perceptions
Of sun also rising.
What is your might,
My starling?
How will you shine your dots
In the pale light from the margins
Of the grey cover
Promising rain,
Then changing to mere
Erasing of hope, my
Starling, climb
The brushes of birches, puff
Out your throat-sack,
Forget the lost spring,
Come, sing.

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