But here we call it Spring, when a young man’s fancy turns, fitfully, lightly, to idling in the sun, to touching in the dark. And the old man's? To worms in their garden box; stepping aside moment in a poem that will remember, fitfully, who made it and the discordant stammer, and change of heart and catch of breath it sprang from. A bending down lightly to touch the earth.

Earth Hour