Saturday, 8 June 2013

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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