A spring poem by John Hearn.
Warming and waking in time and
Season, spring calls sleeping seeds
To glory the ancient earth with
Leaf and flower in colors hot
And new. Paradise
Hovers on the air, straining
In the marred perfection of form and fire,
To keep at last the promise
Of Our Lady's splendor begging
My selfish heart to relent and in adamic
Labor lift each budding blossom
To itself. The desert wind
Blows over the hills and through little
Valleys between, and each brilliant
Orange poppy dances in the new sun
For my shame and delight.
Lane Core Jr. CIW P Tue. 03/30/04 07:29:16 AM
Categorized as Literary.