Listen: already you can hear the first hoes
working: the human rhythm again
in the taut stillness of the hard
pre-vernal earth. What’s fast approaching
seems not stale to you. What has come to you
so often seems coming now
as something new. Always poised for it,
you never seized it. It seized you.
In the light of dusk even the leaves
of wintered oaks appear a future brown.
Sometimes the winds exchange a sign.
The shrubs are black. But heaps of dung
lie scattered in the fields, a richer black.
Each passing hour grows younger.
-Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Edward Snow