Here at Spring’s thatched door,
the Warbler airs mesmerize.
Unsure where to sow…
in these slips of tangled hair,
costume jewels jammed in a drawer.
In simmering roux,
the packed grains roast in Summer;
a rust-sweated dew
uncts a hospice to sere leaves.
Beads unleash. Desert
trekking stones, gems streak the sleeves
of Autumn’s pappus.
Winter’s sogged verdure
frosts white, crochets the crocus.