If you were coming in the Fall
I'd brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn
As Housewives do, a Fly

If I could see you in a year
I’d wind the months in balls
And put them each in separate Drawers
For fear the numbers fuse

If only Centuries, delayed
I'd count them on my hand
Subtracting, til my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's Land

If certain, when this life was out
That yours and mine, should be
I’d toss it yonder, like a Rind
And take Eternity

But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee
That will not state its sting