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.
Daniel Leach is a poet living in Houston, Texas. He has spent much of his life fighting for the ideals of classical culture and poetry. His first volume of poetry, compiling over 20 years of composition, is entitled Voices on the Wind. His second volume is entitled Places the Soul Goes.