The Awakening
A Winter’s worth of snow is melting away,
for nothing living and new can Spring
from frozen soil. The white crystal kingdom
is becoming the watery realm of liquid rivulets and streams.
Everywhere beneath the sky is the slow, relentless
drip,
drip,
drip
of conversion,
while the sky itself
is breathing briskly with blue and white and winged things.
The living Earth is warming, waking,
in the light of the ever rising Sun;
the dormant things of snow and ice are dissipating
and, as they flow, are expiating anything dead they left behind.
Green spears will pierce the softened ground
and, soon, the crocus chalices are found
among the fading remnants of the shroud.
Where once the bare outlines of black and white
were all that slept within the hush,
there now will come the tender blush,
the violet flush, the yellow rush of blossoms
raised as from the tomb.
Loose tendrils of azalea hair,
the fruitful blooms of apple, pear,
yawning, stretching open wide,
the ferns and flowers everywhere…
Oh wait beneath the weight of secret rest
and see the coming of the Morning Fair,
to which the universe and all attest,
the time perpetual and rare,
The Loving Heart at nature’s breast,
Who put the will to thrive in there –
Oh Beauty, ever ancient, ever new!
© 2018 Christina Chase
“O, Beauty ever ancient, ever new” – Saint Augustine, Confessions, Book X, Chapter 27
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Christina Chase View All
There once was a cripple…
who wasn't afraid to acknowledge that she was a cripple or to share her life of wonder, struggles, sorrow, and joy with perfect strangers. Here I am.
Join me as I explore the reality of divine love in the flesh, reflecting on what it means to be fully human, fully alive.
Your words gleam off your voice and the golden fingers you abound in verse of lyrical splendor for my eyes and ears. Thank you for sharing. blessings
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Just beautiful!
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You can say that again,
Dear Christina!
And I shall too.
And again. And
often, as a good poem
should be said.
. . .
(Resurrection is still in the air here, so your poem is just right for sharing.)
. . .
It is wonderful how nature and faith are in harmony. You have presented that so well in the music of your words, and in the word-pictures, and especially in the ideas that appear almost without notice, as flowers sometimes do in spring.
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“…the ideas that appear almost without notice, as flowers sometimes do in spring.” A beautiful thought. Thank you for reflecting with me, Albert!
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Abel’s mother read him a Walter de la Mare poem about Snow in a picture book. He broke down in tears because he enjoyed the story and ‘I want snow. I want winter again!’ When you’re not yet three, there is a lot of patience to be learnt!
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