La Ronde

When crocuses first blazed beneath the trees 
as harbingers of warmth and light to come, 
I met you, and the curved continuum 
transported us beyond high summer's ease. 

Thanks be to God above that things rotate. 
The bloom is ruptured by late summer's breath: 
its seeds, in flying, validate its death. 
Our cycle is complete. The hour is late. 

Yet every night is scattered by a dawn, 
each fallen oak replenishes the soil. 
If life-in-death brings on us endless toil, 
the pains of birth and grief, I will not mourn. 

I know new shoots will strive up from dead ground, 
and love will flame again, though now snowbound.

naturesonnet

♡Like0

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.