spring’s gift – a poem

Hello, friends!

It’s spring in my corner of the world…on the ridges and in my soul. Here’s a new poem to commemorate these days.


the world is coming alive again,

and so

am

I…

spring is yawning green,

pushing its delicate fingers through the loam

that knew death with such intimacy…

but it breathes again,

racing to meet a cloud-studded sky

at the horizon to dance a jig

where death has died.

words flow, inky black

yet so alive

from my pen.

funny how, in the months where

the world stretched barren,

my pen was barren, too…

and now,

as the fields are wooing my heart,

my fingertips spring to life with the words

I fought to snare all winter.

a gift, a gift,

it’s all a gift…

the chorus echoes through my mind

and thunders through my ribcage.

all these God-formed hands can do is

plant,

water,

weed,

gather the increase that comes

from the heart of God and never

from my own sweating brow.

fear melts with the last of the snowdrifts, and

I poke warming fingers into the grasp

of an Almighty hand…

grateful,

eager,

in love.


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