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.

SDG!

© Lynne Spear, 2006