Poem Therapy

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

Oh that Robert Frost.  And oh those others. 

so much dependsupon
a red wheelbarrow
glazed with rainwater
beside the whitechickens

 This is just to say. . . in that other world. . . .