By E. E. Cummings
When life is quite through with
and leaves say alas,
much is to do
for the swallow, that closes
a flight in the blue;
When love’s had his tears out,
perhaps shall pass
a million years
(while a bee dozes
on the poppies, the dears;
When all’s done and said, and
under the grass
lies her head
by oaks and roses
deliberated.)