Keats lays out a path that might begin again today
Two hundred years on or thereabouts
Showing plenty and labor and decline
But what he wrote is for a season in another place
And while the path may still run true there
As it did then
Amid the limestone hills that drape themselves in oak and cedar and mesquite
The summer heat lingers yet
And will for long
And as it passes there will not be multicolored revelry
Emerald and jade do not pass into garnet and topaz here
Not often and not for long
If at all
But we are compensated with sapphires in the spring
And rubies and gold for carpets instead of the ceiling
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