Seeding

The morning sun looks in on me
And gets me up and out to plow.
He does not know I grieve to see
The days come in so often now.

As though I did not lend an ear,
As though my eyes were half awake,
A sound haunts me I would not hear
And follows every step I make.

Have you the seed? Then sow it now.
Have you a plow? Come, here’s the ground.
This is my answer to the low
Roar that time makes over sound.

And though I keep within my blood
The pulse of season and of field
There comes a time when field and wood
Must do without the flowers they yield.

And to oppose the coming dark
That steals upon us one by one—
I stand and hold my tiny arc
Against a circle of the sun.