The Bulb
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Through layers of snow,
White blankets, the world
Peaceful and quiet, still as grief – abiding
I stay hidden, secreted in the darkness,
Buried beneath the dust, the mud, the earth
Where life awaits the springlike touch
From sunshine’s blessing, rich and glorious
Awakening the music of a heart’s mystery
Soothing, like stardust – so gentle,
Light covers my grave, so somber
Earnest and peaceful, I lay quietly, waiting
For the miracle of a moment when sunlight
Breathes its wisdom through my veins,
Inviting me to rise through the soil, the richest
Clay, trembling with compassion, caressing
Away the frost, cold, so unsympathetic – bitter
Like resentment who fills the heart with
Doubts, distant thunders, storms in skies so blue
They feel like beautiful guiding me through
The reckless rest where I’ve been dormant, forgotten
By the twinkling stars, the sunrise and sunset
Never aware that I was even there – alive,
Hidden by the winter freeze, with ease
But, now – as spring silences the silver flakes,
There, hesitating within the earth, my tender leaves
Begin to peek, peering up toward the sunshine
Graceful and lulling, like the glimmering glories
Discovered in the new buds, stirring, emerging – soundless
On a quest for the light, the rain sprinkling through
The night, erasing winter’s touch with a growing
Promise – the assurance of a thriving blossom, a bloom
Who develops just as the heart begins to beat
With eagerness for the beginnings of spring,
Growing – springing from the darkness, resurrected
Great joy comes from the knowing, the hope
That revives the spirit, the feelings
In those who see that I have made it, once again,
Through the silent nights and the snow blanketing
On a land, sleeping through the winter’s smile,
Waiting quietly for the proper time to rise
From the earth, - new birth of a bud, a gentle
Wish peeking out from the past, prompting the spirit
To listen to the whisper of God’s tender gift to us,
Those who know that, despite our deepest wishes –
In time, in season – there is birthed a splendor
In spring, that splendor – that pretty comes from me
The bulb who waits, patient, beneath the ground
Where there is the promise that, in time, there will come
A beautiful flower who will brighten hearts like the sound…
Laughing in the breeze – a flower, free to breath!
Copyright © Regina Mcintosh | Year Posted 2023
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