OLD SUMMER'S TOMB

and will the winter ever come
to frost the cold with chills and
drums
of snow beat on the window
panes
to rage the winds in hurricanes

and will the winter ever come
to bitter earth and ice the sky
to wash out all the world in
checks
of whites and blacks in violent
flecks

for flowers suffer, late to bloom
they sway and die on summer's
tomb
in fadings of the vanished sun
and will the winter ever come