You are a season and a man—then, less a man
Like a seed inside the thistle—
And finally
You are the season.
Earth says
The planet is ripe
With love and dying,
Seldom get words
But space
Is knowledge,
The spruce speaks up.
You are a season and a man—then, less a man
Like a seed inside the thistle—
And finally
You are the season.
Earth says
The planet is ripe
With love and dying,
Seldom get words
But space
Is knowledge,
The spruce speaks up.