SONG OF THE SEASONS
What
lies beyond the blue and beckoning hills,
I
hardly know, nor care.
Mine
earth is a lovely green that urgingly fills
a
thirst to grow and dare.
Those
mingling clouds,
the
meandering winds,
the
mighty sea,
bestir
the bounds of my blue-ribboned haze
surrounding
me.
I
wait and wager with wonder in my gaze
at
forms of Thee!
Flakes
of sorrow glisten
on
mountain tops,
like
human hopes.
The
Summer heat, simmering
plummets
my passion-pails.
I
fret for everything,
the
rain to wet my withering sails,
flowers
and seeds to break their strings
and
fill my vales,
streams
and springs to flow like gushing jets
in
my dreary dales.
My
hands must meanwhile build,
my
head should interpret
those
dreadful wails.
With
winter comes death,
when
I try to preserve
the
dead-wood of the past.
Unless
I throb, the cold unnerves
my
will to last.
An
autumnal pause.
I
shed my shredded fears
and
look inward,
to
choose spring-boards.
The
spring is season’s best
where
I bury my quest.
It
is now time to bring
my
senses to test.