Found this Jane Kenyon poem* today:
February: Thinking of Flowers
Now wind torments the field,
turning the white surface back
on itself, back and back on itself,
like an animal licking a wound.
Nothing but white--the air, the light;
only one brown milkweed pod
bobbing in the gully, smallest
brown boat on the immense tide.
A single green sprouting thing
would restore me. . . .
Then think of the tall delphinium,
swaying, or the bee when it comes
to the tongue of the burgundy lily.
*Copyright © 1986 by the Estate of Jane Kenyon. Reprinted from The Boat of Quiet Hours by Jane Kenyon, published by Graywolf Press.