The Thinking Poet


Blossom Time

So short the span of blossomy spring!

A centuryís gaze

Would still amaze;

Deny satiety.

Yet in this solemn season

Between the palms and the passion,

Should trees display themselves in flowery fashion

Without good reason?

Those who ask should know

That Nature is a tomboy.

And though he goes to woe

Christís no kill-joy either.

Blossom is Christ-like:

Petals pink and petals white bless the earth but briefly.

Fair in their transience,

They hold the harvestís prescience mysteriously.

These latter April days of sun and snow

When only crab and quince show leaf in full

And foam blows thick on every damson bough,

Newness seems unending

And loveliness enduring;

Just as Jesusí glory must have seemed

To those who loved, and stayed till that bleak end.

But through sadness and sorrow we have come to comprehend

A span of blossomy spring that has no end;

The dying of Godís flower on the tree

As blossoming of life for you and me.