All Seasons in One * Sooner never was, Later never came; Waiting for a cause To free oneself is but a game. And now freed from the daze of time Soaring high, I see below I am seed, I am root, I am flower, I am fruit. Plowing deep, I slowly sow; From birth to dearth, To birth again. Gliding low, I swiftly flow; From breath to death, To breath again. To await tomorrow is a crime, For thy soul Now is the only clime.