If its this poem then its by the person below
THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come --
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.
William Butler Yeats
I
f its this other poem then its by:
The Wheel
By Andrew Grossman
15 March 2004
She nails it to the wall.
This will bring him back.
This will guide his mind.
She sees him in the open.
He holds a compass skyward,
turning in all directions.
The clouds confuse him.
They keep his eyes half-closed.
In daytime he stops to sleep.
She sends a herd of horses
stampeding across the sky,
to pull the covering from his bed.
She animates the grass at his feet
to slither against his heels.
He leaps from his stupor.
She denudes the galaxy,
filling one star to the brim:
the flames, the sparks, the spirits
This one light goes to him,
her old dresses are burned for him,
of the well-fed girl that she was.
Look up tonight, she pleads.
Wherever you are, look up.
His silence to her is weakness.
She pulls the wheel from her wall.
She plucks a spoke and thinks,
One less road for him to take.
She doesn't know that he walks
on empty, unmarked highways,
across fields filling with snow.
If its not either of thoose sorry but thats all google had