Sleeping in the conifers,
I stumbled on a rose.
Since trodden only yesterday,
Now carefully she grows.
Outstanding, still, the lilies in
The garden she forgoes.
I offered her my hand and knelt
To mend the earth and stone.
But gardener she needed none.
No meal. No collarbone.
And so I sang a quiet song,
And pat back down the loam.
O Spring when you, by skillful hand,
Affirm what I opined,
Awake me in the forest land,
That blushing rose to find.
By day I'll search the cedars and
By night the yews, the pines.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
Sleeping in the conifers,
I stumbled on a rose.
Since trodden only yesterday,
Now carefully she grows.
Outstanding, still, the lilies in
The garden she forgoes.
I offered her my hand and knelt
To mend the earth and stone.
But gardener she needed none.
No meal. No collarbone.
And so I sang a quiet song,
And pat back down the loam.
O Spring when you, by skillful hand,
Affirm what I opined,
Awake me in the forest land,
That blushing rose to find.
By day I'll search the cedars and
By night the yews, the pines.