A Spring Visitation

I will hear you praying, singing

when the footfall of old man North

leaves one last frost in our fern-clad glens

and dogwoods lift a hundred praising hand pairs

to a blanket of new warm rain.

You are there, among the red oaks

bent low to listen for the rising pulse of earth,

as jonquils tune their trumpets to the sun.

Your voice comes in with a flourish,

filling chords that have been hollow since you’ve gone.

You float through every open window

as long days leave time for love and laughing,

broken bread and story bits the old ones drop

for nests of eager, wide-mouthed young.

And when I hear you lending velvet

to the slick green skin of spring

I’ll bring out the little flattened rosebud

left to hold your place between green pastures,

beside still waters,

in the house of the Lord,

forever.

2016-07-30 14.31.54

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