melancholy joy

shorn of all inelegance the spaces fill
with all the memories that we can bear
moving from cool to warm along the year
the light is sharp the trees are very still
walkers are quiet going down the hill
for once we name and master all our fear
duty we have and with that duty care
but what may happen must do so by will
not now the time for our tempers to fray
allow our sentiments their proper spaces
shaping the time's an overwhelming task
the mind into odd paths we will let stray
amazing each with such unexpected graces
the smiling visage under the hard mask
what matters here is that we have to ask
not for what we must but what we may
rejoice in while each finger interlaces
with the next hand the sun's glowing ray
brings out the colour in our winter faces
allows us joy in the most boring task
welcome to us is this amazing hour
when the small bud turns into brilliant flower