The Willows Are Calling

river1

The willows are calling

The ice-river mellows

Sparrows let forth a cry

Of triumph over Winter, of hope soon unfettered

Captive Spring bursts forth from her chains

 

The oak trees are hailing

The light in their bosoms

Dancing on leaf and on bough

“Long live the Light!” they cry, never suspecting

Sundance dims and is gasping as Summer’s green fades

 

The aspens are sighing

As cruel wind through life-shorn limbs

Whirls and moans, lonesome, mournful

The leaves bid farewell to their citadels of strength

As Death’s Phantom unleashes the coming of Winter

 

The Birches are dying

Stripped of their shields

To nurture the outcasts of Nature

Swift Deer shiver and their pathways are frozen

Joy is swept away in the dismal white desert of Death.

 

The Pines are all whispering

Beneath their fragile ice prisons

Through the chill and the silence of Darkness

“This is not the end, nor ever shall be,”

Hope rises in the sleeping Spring life of the trees.

 

The stars are still smiling

From the softness of Spring’s night

Dusk covers light newly reborn

Still the world holds to memory of gentle sunlight

For the snares of Death shall never prevail against Love.

 —

By Anna Maria

 

Advertisements