Sufficient Ina Donna Coolbrith Citron, pomegranate, Apricot, and peach, Flutter of apple-blows Whiter than the snow, Filling the silence With their leafy speech, Budding and blooming Down row after row. Breaths of blown spices, Which the meadows yield, Blossoms broad-petaled, Starry buds and small; Gold of the hill-sides, Purple of the field, Waft to my nostrils Their fragrance, one and all. Birds in the tree-tops, Birds that fill the air, Trilling, piping, singing, In their merry moods, — Gold wing and brown wing, Flitting here and here, To the coo and chirrup Of their downy broods. What grace has summer Better [...]