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Oh, if I could quickly bare witness to God's perfect hand in life renew.
Oh, if I now could bare witness to his wondrous seasonal debut.

Oh if spring would come and release my body from the frigid fingers of winter.
The touch of it is not tender.

Let not my stiff joints bark and weep no more.
I called to God and said, Holy Father I am miserable to the core.

I am spent with the deathly view of winter.
Oh, if I could bare witness again the wide white blooms of magnolia, the bursting bulbs of the cherry blossom, and all their splendor.
With God's loving healing grace and the sight of them, I will gladly surrender.

I am in despair of this shivering brumal blast.
My heart grows anxious for the unsympathetic brittleness of winter to pass.

Oh, let my wanting eyes settle on the flowing James River.
Let the array of hungry geese do thither.

Oh, if I could dance on fields of tulips and daffodils.
Oh, if my fever mind could make the spring season to appear at will.

I would walk barefooted on the cool green grass that is freed from the rich Virginia soil.
I would let the cool spring breeze wrap around my body like it was plastic foil.

I would sit on my porch and wait for the return of the cardinal to come back and retrieve his wooden bungalow on the thick crooked limb of the old oak tree.
I would be comforted by the sight of him and his songs of love to a great degree.

I would bathe my aged body in the sunshine.
I would sing of God's glorious divine.
The circadian rhythms of my brain set aflame memories of a past affair.
They were hot and steamy memories of hot and steamy moments that I would not openly declare. 

If only spring were here it would satiate my soul.
It would obliterate this disabling toll.





January 27, 2023

inspired by the musical composition of Summer of 42, composed by Michel Legrand and Andr'e Hossein.
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