Appear the oval orbits of the planets;
The temperate cycles of the seasons---
Summer's softness and winter's cold deceit.
But beneath all of this lies buried:
Lies hidden under a solemn sublimity:
An anger, hoarse rage at how things are;
At why they've been so forced arranged.
And it is from this same scowling howl;
Strangled, in the throat suppressed;
Kept silent and kept deep concealed,
Beauty shall emerge to be born again.