Leaf oh leaf, of fleeting grief,

where will you fall tomorrow?

When once your vein laps up the rain

so soon will flit your sorrow.

Bee oh bee, of majesty

where will you rest your crown?

When once the springs supplant your wings,

so soon will wilt your gown.

Gannet, oh dear gannet flock,

when will the wind recall?

The sonnet of your ecstasy

embedded in your squall?

-Amy Struthers