Spring Morning

The last couple days have been gloriously sunny (though still a bit cold in the evenings) and teasing hints of Things To Come are slowly rising in the air and trees and people. I feel it's about time, then, that I brought out my first spring poem of the year. I dearly love winter, and the quiet, cozy comfort that it brings, but we live always in the cycle of the seasons, and it is fast approaching the time of the wide and verdant days of summer. This poem is a sonnet of sorts - though not in the strictest sense - and also somewhat of a counterpart to a previous poem, 'Daybreak.'


Spring Morning

The sun, ascended to its seat above the earth

upon a coil of eternal care,

extends its lambent arms in full and fiery birth,

where feathers float so freely on the air

and mistral morning clouds recline in waning girth

to consecrate the haloes in their hair.

Then here, below, bedecked, each flower lifts a crown,
a congregation, spread about its feet
of grasses bent with dew and bees in banded down,
who gather for the sacramental sweet
of life enlivened by the lucid stellar gown
that rests upon the land in lush replete.

So spring has woken with a royal trumpet blare,
as winter makes a reticent retreat.