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