Did Spring relent her blossoming sending
a late hoarfrost on unripened cherries?
Did she fertilize her stillborn bushels,
caramelize her green bulbs like lollipops
so bloom and harvest could become one garden
of unpicked crops, and unrung peal of bells?
She did not lament with rainshower that month
the loss of a single orchard of my cherries,
only, that she must carry on her season
in abundance, with nothing left undone.