Garden Fires
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A DRIFT of wood and weed-smoke Floats o'er the garden spaces, Circling the orchard tree-tops; They're burning up the traces Of Winter from the earth, Now Spring has birth. Soft showers of snowy petals Bestrew the bright, lush green; Blue smokewreaths wheel and thicken As warm winds stir between, And living tongues of flame Put daffodils to shame. And men shall make such fires, And warm Spring winds blow free, When all the great desires Which rend the heart of me Shall dwindle into dust, For Time is just! Flora Thompson |
