if you were coming in the fall i d brush the summer by with half a smile and half a spurn as housewives do a fly if i could see you in a year i d wind the months in balls and put them each in separate drawers for fear the numbers fuse if only centuries dalayed i d count them on my hand subtracting till my fingers dropped into van dieman s land if certain when the life was out that yours and mine should be i d toss it yonder like a rind and take eternity but now uncertain of the length of this that is between it goads me like the goblin bee that will not state its sting