One With The Seasons Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

The seasons in their way present
a kind of moving monument
to quick decay. They've been before:
blurred hinge of 'in' and 'out' time's door;
the twirl, the swirl; the twinkled blink;
the flashed and frenzed whirl of wink.


But blooms of Herrick still remain.
His ladies sway in sun and rain.

His garden's far beyond mere time;
he sows his shoots of vining rhyme.
He knows: our sense of 'rake' and 'hoe',
what withers quick, what's slow to grow,
and so he grins, guffaws-there's sound!
His ladies chortle underground.

So blooms of Herrick still remain.
His ladies sway in sun and rain.
All lives, when planted, thrive again.