I Scratched a Poem

I scratched a poem on the sand in summer,

But the waves rolled in and washed it away.

I raked a poem in the autumn leaves,

But the wind blew, scattering it over the fields.

I stamped a poem in the snow in winter,

But the sun shone and it melted and trickled away.

I sowed a poem in the springtime soil,

Green shoots sprang up and flowers blossomed, filling the air with its scent

By

John Foster.