• By Daniel Leach

Easter


Here, where winter never really comes,

How so, this vast profusion of wildflowers,

These waves of jasmine sweet upon the wind,

This hum and trill and trickling flow of life?

There was no deathlike sleep in endless nights

Or desperate, lean searching amid the cold

From which to burst forth now in joyous rebirth,

Only sad, drooping summer days ahead,

Where scorching sun seems to kill all life and thought;

And yet, for one brief moment, all the world

Proclaims itself reborn! The luscious green

Of grass and budding boughs waves brief in light

Against the darkening storm off in the West

Like a moist breath that plays upon the cheek.

And I feel that old aching in the heart

Of long lost loves in Springs gone by,

And buried hopes I dared not dream again.

But oh, I think, this could not ever then

When I was young, have made me cry like this,

Or deep the heaving sigh at the sweet sight

Of little child with sunlit, breezy curls,

Oh, I am mindful now of nearing death,

And greet as brother the deep, soft twilight,

And the immeasurably distant stars above,

That over eons die and are reborn

In other forms as is all this below,

And souls who feel the beauty of that Spring

Eternal, watch and weep and breathe their sighs

Out into the unfolding universe,

Where they are like the silent, primal Word

That never dies but creates ever new.


April, 2013