The seasons take their time for us,
Though we haven’t time for them.
With pedals down and hackles up
We steamroll what they tend.
Do we know to slow down a piece,
For some short episodes?
To humbly shake our sodden fleece
And the sad brevity it bodes?
We do, I say- and so do they,
Picking lightly through the patch.
A season’s patience in one day.
An eternal instant we can catch.