The Shortest Day

One day, in the brim of the lentil blooms, I shall laugh with the lingering dusk, and share With the flowers their early dishes, just before The bite of winter’s frost begins to stir; And we shall scatter seeds, spin of time, With laughter that brims with its punch. So while they softly speak, so quiet yet free, I’ll listen, and fond as my heart shall grow, For it keeps not quarrels, nor divided days; The shortest day shall swaddle the night, Embracing—warm under blanket and star— The world remains a swing — between blossoms immured.

• Sidney Keyes