SPRINGTIME
Gentle as the summer rain
are you.
Soft as the final kiss
of sunset,
You walk, enchanted,
among the lights
Playing down through the
branches
In these smoky, blue
woods.
I follow you,
watching your hair toss
and flow
As you walk.
O, Child of the Sun,
I admire your freedom,
You travel on,
but where is it you go?
I observe you from afar,
knowing that this
distance
Will always remain,
howevermuch
The soul cries out for its
banishing.
Two galaxies of being,
we spin through the
Universe,
Touching each other
lightly with a smile,
then letting go,
To wander on in separate
freedoms.
And, as Spring proclaims
rebirth,
where do our old souls
take us?
Here comes that time
again!
that warming drizzle
percolating through the
heart's petals.
Golden is this time, holy
this moment!
I would like to tell you
this
as a child would,
As you go lightly by me.
But the butterfly moment
comes and goes,
And I am left old and
tongue-tied,
watching the new life of
Spring,
trying to forget the cold
winds gone.
Now I sit here, wondering
how long
before the time comes
When I fly free once more,
returning to the
Summerland ...
RW, first draft,
21.IV.85, latest draft, 15.XII.92.
Copyright, Rory Winter 2013
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