How like the lilies
neither toiling nor spinning,¹
resurrected from seed
strewn by the Poet,
season of winter’s
terrible beauty,²
over the dormant fields
to cling to the earth
until spring, to rise
in sudden beauty
like little children
leaping and laughing,
sufficient joy,
no accounting of tomorrow.

NOTES:

¹“Consider the lilies of the field. . . .”:  Matthew 6: 28-29 (ESV).

²William Butler Yeats. “Easter 1916.” The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats, The Macmillan Company, Eighteenth Printing, 1972, pp. 177-180.