If you were coming in the Fall,

I'd brush Summer by

With half a smile, and half a spurn,

As Housewuves do, a Fly.

If I could see you in a year,

I'd win the months in balls -

And put  them each in separate Drawers,

For fear the numbers fuse -

If only Centuries, delayed,

I'd count them on my Hand,

Subtracting, till my fingers dropped

Into Van Dieman's Land.

If certain, when this 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.

E. D