Again, ramshackle skeleton,
You spare the house what is about to happen.
Out of nowhere, up from the bleak ground,
My greedy twinings overcome your frame,
Climb, put blue suns forth, suicidally thicken,
And, spoiled at summer's end no doubt
By so much wooden acquiescence, brag
Of having woken a response in you.
Who can say? A night is coming, I remember,
When I share your body with frost. A second,
And I withdraw into myself for winter.
Never mind. I'll bloom next year.
You only, love's uncomprehending object,
Will be replaced after a season or two.
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