The old leaves stay to guard the new,
Like morning blooms that fade by noon.
All day and night their colours grow,
Beneath the drift of fragrant snow.
A quiet spark in grassy deep,
Where sorrow wakes from heavy sleep.
The flowers turn through dark and light,
To climb the quiet, lonely height.
Above the low and shadowed ground,
Where silent birds forsake the sound,
They leave the field and take their flight,
Beyond the reach of morning light.