The river’s tent has broken, the last fingers of leaf fall
Clutching and sink to wet bank, spring anew winds come
Dancing and swirling across snow gone landscape, unheard.
Liken nymphs splay in the fields.
Sweet streams, run softly, till I end this my song.
With no empty bottles, sandwich papers, or rot,
No silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of Man’s disrespect.
To which the nymphs would depart, their spirit no more.
And of man and his friends, heirs of cities for dark,
Let them depart and be gone, the Earth miss them not.