leave me in this silken nest
to dream in peace of nothingness
why thrust me out so soon
from the sanctuary of a mother’s womb
the ash has not yet shed its leaves
the last rose is not plucked

unripe fruit hangs in the hedge
sweet chestnuts are still green
summer dawns too bright for me
I do not want to stir
before the farmer reaps his crop
and brings his harvest home

so let me slumber safely here
holding fast my breath
until the beech has turned to bronze
sycamore seeds unfurl
and autumn wears its cloak of mist
to shield me from the world