When Summer Comes
Winter still, and I am pale, brittle
My face dry and lined, my cloak threadbare
I am of use.
The small spirits perch upon my shoulder
Find a place from which to see this colder world
I help them find wisdom
I am not dead, nor dying
Waiting for warmer winds.
When summer comes,
I shall wear a shawl of brightest gold
Above a dress with emerald fringe
I shall turn my brown face toward the sun all day
And feel it warm my spirit.
I shall adorn the earth and feed the world
And I shall dance in the summer light.