On this gray morning,
Every branch has a droplet
Suspended at its tip,
Like a bud
Or a pearl of milk
Nothing moves
All is suspended
In the equipoise
Of a mild
Midwestern
Winter
The barking of dogs
The sighing of traffic on
The expressway
The whir of an
Appliance
Spiral out into the
Waiting air --
Signals
To the waiting Spring,
Semaphore to the
Seeping aquifers
And sleeping ants,
Drumbeat of the deliverance
Of the Sun
As it ascends once more
To its black
Throne
We who hope
And wait
Hear the crocuses stirring
Smile as life
Comes
And the drops swell
And fall
On the waiting
Earth
--Mr. Gobley
1 comment:
Such lovely words- equipoise& Semaphore.
I've decided you are a Psalmist, by nature and by heart. We're blessed.
Thank you.
Post a Comment