I've seven supernova all
Gathered in a heap,
They're rotting under hessian
And their own dull heat.

The planting came in autumn:
Winter's for the sleep and
Springtime's slumber wakening.
Summer scythes, summer reaps,

Summer's plenty, summer feasts.
Summer plunders. Spring is sweet,
Autumn's old and winter sleeps--
Good lord, what did my summer reap?