who opens the door,
and who is knocking;
and who shoulders the dry, heaving breast of winter,
when whoever fires the gun?
is it really true the season's aimless,
when the hot breath of summer has begun;
and who'll dry the tears of springtime
when the vacant memory grows more dumb?
and who remembers,
and who forgets;
and what of earth is worth remembering
when everything's peace is forever forfeit?