02 November 2006

Opus #6

My ardor cools by slight degrees, a hoar
Frost chills my soul. The passion I held dear
In past is frozen. Breezes gust and roar,
Autumnal windstorm, frosty, insincere.
Hard, wintry ice weighs down mere’s rippled wave.
Dull leaves drift down and carpet ground - earth’s shroud.
All life in hibernation sleeps. My grave
And soul’s decease writ large, benumb and cloud
My heart.
I hear a muted hymn that swells
And grows, reminds me of your grace. Splash, drip-
Your love a supernatural spring that quells
My dread. Your care a fire that melts death’s grip-
A sun that brings new life: the blush on fruit
Of freshest rip’ning faith and tender shoot.


© Lynne Spear, 2006

No comments:

Post a Comment