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The seasons in their way present
a kind of moving monument
to fleet decay. They've been before:
blurred hinge of 'in' and 'out' time's door;
the twirl and swirl; the twinkled blink;
the flashed and frenzed whirl of wink.

But blooms of Herrick still remain.
His ladies sway in sun and rain.

His garden's far beyond mere time
where flows his shoots of vining rhyme.
He knows: our sense of 'rake' and 'hoe',
what withers quick, what's slow to grow,
and so he grins, guffaws-there's sound!
His ladies chortle underground.

So blooms of Herrick still remain.
His ladies sway in sun and rain.
All lives, as rain falls, pulse again.

Glenn Bagshaw

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/herrick-a-lyric-of-tribute/