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
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
I don't call myself a poet — but the beating of my heart is poetry. I don't call myself a theologian — but the light of my mind seeks the Divine. Who I am is a Child of God, a Divine Creation, a person devoted to being fully human, fully alive.