A yawning nature's arms have shuddered
ripe for nurture; sinewy
to cradle this ebullient season's birth
that's just begun to Spring
from sprouts of life
who, pushing upward
find the sun a willing guide
to fish and frogs
who, just awake, will join
this rhythmic march of time.
May I behold a feathered softness?
. . . beating heart and wings
as they return to weave their mothers' nests
and sing their fathers' melodies?
. . . and spirit of 1,000 wonders;
fossil in a blade of grass,
oh, green!
. . . now let me know your meadow;
let me know of meadows past,
astound me
with your stunning glory
growing there
with all of them,
and garnished
with a bed of flora;
quilted colors in the wind . . .
fresh dusting
with the calm of nature;
taste how true
this fruitful shower
. . . how succulent and sweet
the petals of this flower . . .
drink
of such abounding beauty,
filled to brimming,
teeming; clear
may settle my impassioned waters . . .
heart to quiver,
never still.