Sonnet #272

The dead leaves and dirty ground will keep the roots

So leave the mess where it is found until the spring

Be patient, for until the music of the frosts unstrings

We never know what swell of song will stomp the boots

What keening winds will come, these broken ruins

Will bear the worst of all these songs to come

And leave beneath the grotesque twisted bones

The sweet of green wrapped up inside the cambium

Be gentle, be patient, leave all the leaves to blow

Allow the stalks to wilt upon the ground

Where fireflies root and salamander stow

Until the rise of sun and heat comes round

There the worms devour and there the toads:

A messiness is living when the symphony resounds!

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