Windrow

Old figures in a lane,
Toward the grey church going;
Vines tapping on a pane,
Strong wind blowing.

Old comers by a lane,
Heads bowed and hoary;
Stiff knees and tapping cane,
Wind knows the story.

Old patterns in a lane,
Toward the grey church going;
Follow through veils of rain,
Brown leaves blowing.

Old blooming through the lane,
Pods, grey and brittle;
Wind... bring all back again—
Young, gay, little!