The sky Scorched by the sun, Weeps Fecund tears.
But the forest Wounded by the wind, Weeps Dead leaves.
Why so wintery? Summer's Yet to come, and the fall of Glorious autumn.
If I could use words Like falling leaves, What a bonfire My poems would make!
|
Greetings on this most exceedingly beautiful spring morning. A morning swollen with new life, a morning on which, if I had the voice, I would let loose with song. It's hard to believe just a few short weeks ago we were eating our cornflakes in the wintery dark. Now, well it's still kind of dim out there, but I can see the golden glow of Apollo's chariot waiting in the wings, about to make its entrance. Winter's on the lam, no doubt.
|