A mystic scene, around the edges frayed–
My numb feet wandered through a shadowed wood.
And then, with weary sigh, my sole form strayed
Along a path to where a lone tree stood.
Its solemn branches whispered in my ear,
While bending at the touch of winter wind,
A secret song for no one else to hear–
Accepting me despite how I have sinned.
I cling to gnarled roots and start to cry;
I lift my eyes and through the branches see
A single bluebird soaring through the sky,
That’s twisting, dancing, flying over me.
And through the fog, I hear its joyful song
And realize it’s been springtime all along.