The Bench under the Pear Tree
Old friend, too solemn still, too troubled,
Hunched on the stone bench near the pear tree,
Find comfort in your backyard. Look!
The mechanisms work. The wind
Grinds the old vane about; the children
Will not wrench it awry in its rusty socket.
The rules, at least, are fixed: Your grandsons
Can plot galaxies, though this sun fail.
Incredible white still crowns the believable pear.