Mar 2016
An Ode to the Sun
The Mark of Cain upon my every
Detail as I gaze across
The plains, and in the pain beneath
The snow I know the spring
That was -but died again- is waiting
Still, until the winter loses will
To stay, and eases grip to let the
Little things come out and play.
The Mark of Cain, the Curse of Cold,
This winter's getting far too old,
And frozen things all long for heat;
To feel that heart above them beat.
But see, the clouds are parting now,
The Heart of Sky is high, and how
Its beams, it seems, are rays of gold;
A force to melt, and even scold
That old, tenacious ghost of white
And chase it off into a night that has
Been dark as Death for months,
But now is light with Life for once.
The Mark of Cain I shed like skin,
I too have leaves that rest within.
Spring, so faint a sigh, now calls:
Heart of Sky, I feel thy pulse!
The Mark of Cain upon my every
Detail as I gaze across
The plains, and in the pain beneath
The snow I know the spring
That was -but died again- is waiting
Still, until the winter loses will
To stay, and eases grip to let the
Little things come out and play.
The Mark of Cain, the Curse of Cold,
This winter's getting far too old,
And frozen things all long for heat;
To feel that heart above them beat.
But see, the clouds are parting now,
The Heart of Sky is high, and how
Its beams, it seems, are rays of gold;
A force to melt, and even scold
That old, tenacious ghost of white
And chase it off into a night that has
Been dark as Death for months,
But now is light with Life for once.
The Mark of Cain I shed like skin,
I too have leaves that rest within.
Spring, so faint a sigh, now calls:
Heart of Sky, I feel thy pulse!
(Fenstad, Norway.)
Please log in to view and add comments on poems
