Where the Snow Years Past Piled Deep, This Dry Grass Looks Like Wheat

It’s all off, all wrong,
Shouts mind in the mind—
Too warm and too dry
And at the wrong time—

But the eyes love it,
And it’s kind to skin,
And there’s so much light
That hope seeps back in.

It will all come right,
The drought and the heat.
The world will not die,
And death will be sweet.