If here inside a city swarm, in overburdened air,
If here by the offences of a dumping ground
where siren scream defeats a lone distorted salsa beat
Someone cared to set a patch of meadow stems
to banter in the evening breezes,
Glittering of fireflies anoints the eyes
and something sings so early from a higher seat
as sudden struck a heaven there
And summer flung discarded on a wall
green-saturate her shawl of beaded white
Still warm her perfume clings,
Would seem that life may have no care
except to prove unwaning might.
If not here as paving splinters in the heat
would beauty wither, would it where?
Can it help but hint at how to gather
and again go on?