Early Poems Xxii

Canticle: an Aubade Michael R. Burch Misty morning sunlight hails the dawning of new day; dreams drift into drowsiness before they fade away. Dew drops on the green grass echo splendors of the sun; the silence lauds a songstress and the skillful song she's sung. Among the weeping willows the mist clings to the leaves; and, laughing in the early light among the lemon trees, there goes a brace of bees! Dancing in the depthless blue like small, bright bits of steel, the butterflies flock to the west and wander through dawn's fields. Above the thoughtless traffic of the world wending their way, a flock of mallard geese in v's dash onward as they race. And dozing in the daylight lies a new-born collie pup, drinking in bright sunlight through small eyes still tightly shut. And high above the meadows, blazing through the warming air, a shaft of brilliant sunshine has started something there . . . it looks like summer. Childhood's End Michael R. Burch How well I remember those fiery Septembers: dry leaves, dying embers of summers aflame, lay trampled before me and fluttered, imploring the bright, dancing rain to descend once again. Now often I’ve thought on the meaning of autumn, how the rainbows’ enchantments defeated dark clouds while robins repeated ancient songs sagely heeded so wisely when winters before they’d flown south. And still, in remembrance, I’ve conjured a semblance of childhood and how the world seemed to me then; but early this morning, when, rising and yawning, I found a gray hair ... it was all beyond my ken. Easter, in Jerusalem Michael R. Burch The streets are hushed from fervent song, for strange lights fill the sky tonight. A slow mist creeps up and down the streets and a star has vanished that once burned bright. Oh Bethlehem, Bethlehem, who tends your flocks tonight? "Feed my sheep," "Feed my sheep," a Shepherd calls through the markets and the cattle stalls, but a fiery sentinel has passed from sight. Golgotha shudders uneasily, then wearily settles to sleep again, and I wonder how they dream who beat him till he screamed, "Father, forgive them!" Ah Nazareth, Nazareth, now sunken deep into dark sleep, do you heed His plea as demons flee, "Feed my sheep," "Feed my sheep..." The temple trembles violently, a veil lies ripped in two, and a good man lies on a mountainside whose heart was shattered too. Galilee, oh Galilee, do your waters pulse and froth? "Feed my sheep," "Feed my sheep," the waters creep to form a starlit cross.