Blossom Time

Veiled women, music-box birds
Treading poetry on elm-shaded streets
Sing summer with their bright eyes
As the false preacher, puffed out dog-wood
Browned at the edge, planted the verses of the dead
Among the heart-leaves of children
But the wives sun souls with lilac and apple-blossoms
Sweeter blooms than the old way
A fragrance of jewelled flowers flitting
Through doorways, pure gold in new soil