9 Khordad 1405
Quatrain 65 of 75
“Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"”
Reflection · Spring 1405
My clay with long oblivion is gone dry — the winter's pot, the one that has sat through the cold and the dark. And now, in spring, with the long-drawn sigh of someone who has been waiting: fill me with the old familiar juice. Methinks I might recover. Methinks — the tentative hope of the winter-dry vessel. I might recover. By and bye. The spring is here; the juice is back; the capacity for being filled is, perhaps, still there.
This verse in spring is the sound of winter's ending — the tentative sound of the possibility of recovery. The clay is dry. The juice is available.