Spring and All
By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds—drifting the chaff and the thorn of the dead,
has settled, the few blossoms that still fray so careless, the talk of the flowers is low,
it takes summer to curve and brighten it is cold still; but, life does return—
the whirl with rain and it pulls up[straw]
new green from the dry ground— it is only just the way it must pass,
when the spring bends its spine under the past.
- William Carlos Williams