There is nothing happening

The willow wilts beside the pine

The sure man steps over the line

The pair of lovers kiss then recline

And it happens in the prism of the mind

The face falls softly and is buried in the snow

The owl coos gently to the summer crow

And faintly a heart is heard beating in their tow

Like the sheep bleating in the field

Or the pig searching for the sow

The moon is cousin to the kicking sun

The stars and satellites are burning

Like a torch of marathon

The needles are in the hay stack

And the wine is in the cellar

And the porter on the station platform

Is talking with the newspaper seller

Couples disembark trains and meet

As in a garden old friends greet

The spring turns slowly into summer

As April days end in rain like a beating drummer

Firemen roll up their hoses

Old ladies at bus stops blow their noses