Spring days and summer hearts are all in bloom
As we half-rush to quit our cluttered burrow
Like claustrophobes leaving a narrow room;
Outdoors, we open up the hopeful furrow
To make space for the soon-nutritious seed,
Forcing its way to sunlight through black earth.
It seems that freedom is a vital need
For living things to grow from obscure birth.
And so, our beds, too seldom plowed with leisure,
Are overgrown, and practicalities
Keep love from ripening to lasting pleasure--
For harvests only grow when we're at ease.
And in our hearts, which have so long lain fallow,
We've left the seed of love a place too shallow.
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