Rebirth
Those hours between sunrises, waiting
like an autumn ribs, anticipating
wondering if there will be novel surprises
but then falling with withered enterprises
as each evening dies, with no relief
Holding tired memories, as to a jaded crutch
yet still yearning for summer’s touch
with warm, airy breezes of springtime’s allure
until reasons feel quite good enough and sure
to let go of bonds, in beautiful release
Awakening, only to see that renewal came
while time played its torture game
inspiring new zest and stirring hunger’s fire
arousing mornings of dented heart’s desire
in the rebirth, which sprung all around
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