(no subject)
The lonely winter night, so incomplete
quietly fades to leave a budding spring
of pale cream blossoms, achingly sweet
and high above a blackbird on the wing.
So covered now with life what once was bare
alight with verdure never to subside
that Sun, sweet-tempered, hardly seems aware
she in her greatness still may need a guide.
For as fire can warm so can it burn;
can utterly destroy what once was fair,
and even the most hardy fen and fern
cannot defy the scorching eastern air.
The august rain though cool does not destroy
but rather tempers summer's raging heat
and brings a modicum of crystal joy
so soft with tears, so gentle and so sweet.