Classic Poem

Your eyes will not mark the advent of the season
Nor the joy of grasses thronging from the earth
Nor will they notice the burgeoning of the trees
In the stillness of the night
Nor the glow of sap in the heart of the leaf
They will not remark, your eyes, the silence of the seed
As it goes back to its closed-in kingdoms
They will not perceive, your eyes, this death as it returns
Hiding all the freed birds in its basket.
Conceal yourself, then, behind the herbage of words,
Know for a truth that the world
Is wider than is your anxious glance.