Where I Might But Love The Raven Poem by Mark Heathcote

Raindrops and sunshine
break not through shadowy shadings.
Where I might but love the raven
for its lack of love
for all its lack of humbug,
that absorbs all the worlds' refraction's
all the worlds' abstractions
and even time its wondrous self
of-cause it could be spring-tide
it could, in fact, be the full warmth of summer
when autumn descends on leaf and flower
turning all your thoughts to winter
when, where I might but love the raven, again.