Distant Deeps or Skies

We shall traverse many a far off land
in days yet to pass;
Many a distant hill and valley yonder.
Our eyes will see those things that have for ages passed
just beneath the eyes of men,
Yet which wait to joyful wake
our wistful wondrous souls.

Rejoice! For a mere glimpse
has lit our souls, aflame. O' imagine
what a prolonged and steady stare will silent wake.
My honest heart this day laments-
For every moment I have afor
this Springtime looked away.
But behold! Each new and Dayspring dawning,
brings upon its scarlet skies a hidden beauty,
nameless,
to our gaze pull.

O', I weep; as the sad world weeps.
Yet I too rejoice!
For in counting every doleful day I listless walked,
through summer streams and pastel painted skies,
unawares,
Ten thousand moment's such
await my wondering eyes!

Death's Descent

O', how the rain's descent, lamenting fall,
Can match the narrow notes of mortal man!
I watch it tracing down the dampened wall,
A brief and journey blind, our mirrored span.

The child born, into this life with hope,
The maiden drop from far asunder sewn.
I watched for breath, her blindly strain and grope,
The torrent's last, befall the ground unknown.
As frail her fingers, clenched the stillness tight,
As solemn rain slips senseless toward its end;
O' Truth, was what she grasped salvation's light?
Does every drop foresee the rainbow's bend?

For O'! Unlike your Son in sorrow slain,
We know not if, our love we'll hold again.

A Winter Morn

The world wakes now agleam.
Afor the frosted morn, the dawn
dropped its dew and leaping left,
a veil of beauty nor shine bereft.

The sunken branches, agape and yawning,
scratch and scrape the grass aglimmer.
The blades sunlit, those silver swells,
crest and break, in morning shiver.

The sky, as crystal ocean blue
as the youngest breath of Spring-
This cloudless curtain, alive and still,
covers calm the glass aglow.

Winter's grip, its proud and kingly clench,
timely grasped the deep of night.
I wide-eyed gaze, with the waking sun,
at what in darkness, was silent spun.

This March

This March,
Winter's last; a glimpse, a tease.
Springtime subtle kisses
Soft the crownless trees.

Comfort brings this promise;
Days beautiful to come.
Winter's wind, to blessed breeze
And azure sky succumb.

Through wind chimes weaving,
The season's timely march-
Frost's defeat, its fond fair well,
The pinecone-laden Larch.

The late and lagging sun,
Dripping, drags and drops.
Leaving drenched in silken shade,
The tree and chimney tops.

Brave Orion wanders wide,
From the dusk and charriot waning.
Stars once latent, waxing wake,
Over the night sky reigning.

The fresh and rising dawn,
Brings scarlet forth this March.
Where lions turn to lambs,
And the sun extends its arch.