Springtime pierced
the pale heart of winter
with a shout of green
and a blade of grass.

The mumbles of summer
are wooden wagon wheels
banging hollow in the dust
far away.

Autumn sings of passage
with a tear in her eye
as the quail fly up
for the hunters.

The white of winter
is a splinter
under a fingernail.”

Let the riff-raff rumble,
Let the sea gates roar.
I’ve said what I would say,
And I’ll say no more.

• Roy H Williams