For those who grieve…
Autumn, Winter, Spring
In the rustling of leaves
the wind brings rumours
of coming autumn and
deep down, at the root
there is a drawing
together, a readying and
preparing of each fibre.
The sap will not rise a while
each branch will thirst
and pale into brittleness
as the frost grips tight
with lying fingers
to say ‘it is finished.’
Skeletal, stripped bare
shed of all beauty
naked and broken
all above will look dead.
Look dead.
In time, below, far below
news will travel in thawed earth
trembles, excited at
the slightest hint of warmth.
The sun is yearning, seasons turning
buds bursting, leaves unfurling
revealing in fractal script
a message writ in
dappled summer shadows:
we will live still, and bear fruit,
we live still.
(c) KB 2010
With thanks to LC