WEBVTT

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Vernal Equinox.

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Daughters in the wind's
boisterous roughing,

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pray that tickle's equal
to the coat tearing.

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And the wearing
equal to the puffing.

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As you match breath and tugging
after the winter in the thaw

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and the first heat of
the sun's splendor.

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In your first ramble,
daughters, with your laughing

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loosed from the freeze
when the grass is seeping,

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save your dimpled knees in
the head strong leaping.

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And under his cloak if you
run with the north wind,

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when there is the smell
of hibernation in him

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and the black,
half-frozen waters of a dam,

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watch for his cruelty.

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He traps the lamb.

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Daughters under the birches
in the green weeping,

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in the rain and lightning
of the west wind's keeping.

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Daughters, does, with tawny
flank, shy stamping.

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Nibble his water quick land
with your hoofs tamping.

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And dance.

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Do not rest or he'll
have you sleeping.

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And daughters whose hearts
are going higher, higher

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with your wild hair blowing into
his high riding giant's bellows,

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observe the tremble of
the weeping willows.

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