as I await the forest winds you send,
command all fruits to ripen, full and well
and give to them two days of southern sun
to thus ensure perfection as they swell
in luscious sweetness, soon thy wine be done.
For those without a house, I say, oh hear
you shall not build and, if you are alone
no soul will come to you because of fear
and as you wander through the avenues of stone,
long nights you lay awake as you compose,
write letters as within you something grieves.
As tired eyes desire, soon, to close
you watch there, on the streets, the drifting leaves.