The man who stood
Near the roadside, asked,
Widening his eyes:
Hey, didn’t you die
In that dark evening, last Saturday?
Everybody said you did.
Did they? Let them
Whose eyes are shadowed by death
How will they see the new-blue horizon
Away from the cool touch of the mist?
Where would they store the living death of their eyes?
I died? That’s why you just
Saw me alive, animated.
In autumn’s clouded walk the grass that wither, dry up
Haven’t you heard their dying promise:
In the wave of the song of the cuckoo
We’ll dance again, in spring?