DECIDUOUS BRANCH
Reading edition
WINTER, that coils in the thickets now, Will glide from the fields; the swinging rain Be knotted with flowers; on every bough A bird will meditate again. Lord, in the night if I should die, Who entertained your thrilling worm, Corruption wastes more than the eye Can pick from this imperfect form. I lie awake, hearing the drip Upon my sill; thinking, the sun Has not been promised; we may strip Passion to seed, and be undone. Bleed, as the antler of the eaves Vanishes, drop by drop. I brood On a Christian thing: unless the leaves Perish, the tree is not renewed. If all our perishable stuff Be nourished to its rot, we clean Our trunk of death, and in our tough And final growth are evergreen.