we, loving, above the whim of time

Last year changed its seasons 

subtly, stripped its sultry winds 

for the reds of dying leaves, let 

gelid drips of winter ice melt onto a 

warming earth and urged the dormant 

bulbs to brave the 

pain of spring 

 

We, loving, above the whim of 

time, did not notice. 

 

Alone. I remember now. 

 

[Maya Angelou {1928-2014} 'In Retrospect', from And Still I Rise]