The summer’s passing should provoke’ no tears:
Some progress lives within the worst of fears.
Summer constantly, would, after all,
In spite of its perfection, surely pall.
The change, the sharp-drawn contrast is the thing
That makes all nature welcome back the spring.
And so the earth, whose whirling never ends,
Turns on to winter as the snow descends.
by Ray Romine Saturday, June 26, 1954
