In springtime what I envy are the bees,
long to nuzzle fragrant beauty in trees.
In pinks and lilacs, yellows, pristine whites
I’d gladly languish drunk on my delight.
In summer what I envy are the wings
of sleek man’o war, blue herons, flying things.
With eagles, swallows, even crows I’d soar
‘bove the trees and the sadness here below;
leave earth and all its tumult for the glow
of sunsets glinting on crisp clouds before
sleep under the comfort of night dark sky
to dream of envying creatures that can fly.
But autumn and winter bring me no desires,
just the slow monotony of gazing into fires.
© by Jennifer Walcott.
Used with the author’s permission.