There are two worlds in time; one dark, one light:
In circling stasis each on other preys,
Where all between the poles of black and white
Revolve or spiral through their nights and days.
When you behold the blind and silent worm
Become a song inside a robin's throat,
Or see in Spring an orchid blossom form
Its own sweet scent from slime that feeds its root,
Think how in turn a worm will feed as well,
One night to come, upon that robin's meat,
Or how the root that gave will cannibal
And care not if the bloom be foul or sweet;
And realize, then, unlike flower, worm, bird, slime,
Your thoughts of time have put you outside time.