Winter would last if we would only
let our hollow longings lapse;
If we said to hope, at the side of the road,
“stay there, my friend” and walked
to the other side of the path.
I am convinced, if we didn’t discover that madness
before the lilies burrowed up,
if we hadn’t found that hidden love,
the lilies would have kept to the well enough,
the blanket of snow would still be muffling us.
But once you started buying those lines
about faith and a hollow tomb,
life could no more fold its wings
than a freshly burst cocoon,
and hope could no more hold its tongue
than the adulant voice of a rising sun.