White horses whipped to a frenzy by the chariot drivers
stir up a storm behind, pulling the dark mass to follow them.
Below, this tumult bends the fronds close to the ground.
Palm trunks sway back and forth while their branches all flay in one direction.
Awakening what in the underworld?
Above hints of blue and light remain,
with few penetrating the dark mass.
Once these chariots pass, white swirls remain against the blue.
Large spots of light again brush the ground.
The fronds gently sway and the palms stand erect and tall.
White snow drops scattered against the green display their finery.
Eagerly, they greet the arrival of regal daffodils.
All indications are of something better than what the chariot drivers bring.
How long will we enjoy the signs of life?
Or are we doomed to the spirits of those savage chariots?