Spring Spirit (Sonnet)

The long, slow seasons’ turnings are the pulse
Of God who breathes in every spear of grass
And twig of tree that in the lesser beat
Of Winter still returns when cold winds pass.
So slow the pulse that shows life when to live!
Is every winter, then, our test of faith?
As, knowing our unknowing, we grow cold
As rain in Spring recalls cold Winter’s wraith?
Put out your hand and touched the oak tree’s skin –
Watch as the redtail circles overhead.
Then listen for the hum deep underground
Of earthworms working in your garden bed.
Then tell me, if you can, that Death survives
In stupefied defiance of those lives.


About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
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