After a year the well-plowed Earth repents,
The joy of Spring and strength of Summer fade:
the green she gave she summons back again.

The seasons are not moved by discontents,
and our illusive judgments not obeyed:
the abyss syncopates the lives of men.

So others' choices make our accidents,
break homes, and hopes, and promises long made -
the green she gave she summons back again.

The lucky sailor bilks the elements
awhile, the dull drift down to dark delayed -
the abyss syncopates the lives of men -

until the sea's hot breath rise and condense
to fuel the storm's ship-wrecking cannonade:
the green she gave she summons back again.

And I my folly much more evidence
ignoring still what all can see displayed:
the abyss syncopates the lives of men:
the green she gave she summons back again.