Ursula K. Le Guin
gold of amber
red of ember
brown of umber
Over the bright shallows
now no flights of swallows.
Leaves of the sheltering willow
dangle thin and yellow.
At four in the morning the west wind
moved in the leaves of the beech tree
with a long rush and patter of water,
first wave of the dark tide coming in.
On the longest night of all the year
in the forests up the hill,
the little owl spoke soft and clear
to bid the night be longer still.
THE WINDS OF MAY
are soft and restless
in their leafy garments
that rustle and sway
making every moment movement.
The dogwood cowered under the thunder
and the lilacs burned like light itself
against the storm-black sky until the hail
whitened the grass with petals.