I lead you out on a February evening (The frogs are still exhaling) A bed of self-seeded aconites adore you Earth's shadow cannot shroud them Remember how they laughed last year Maybe it's the offspring of now and then. At once, you say you don't feel cold You say you don't feel old Just tired of being told (Why are they still exhaling?) A little dew clings to us for warmth (The dormice are still snivelling) And my hand in yours Is dipping dormant as a paddle Fervourlessly fencing fear Maybe you are already unafraid. At once, you peer myopically at the starry vault You declare that here there is no fault That you have seen everything in that white bolt (Why are they still snivelling?) We are lost before we arrive (The bats are still echolocating) It is time to hand you over The winter quarters await Your final stride shakes the ground under my heart Maybe that ancient pulse is merely sleeping. At once, you bob into the inky black Leaving as you came, without time to pack First whispering, then laughing, now screaming