Spring Comes to the Land and the Soul
It's a trickle;
subtly flowing as it thaws,
presumptuously, season-change's sickle
cuts off the winter's chilling cause.
It's a stream;
channeling an icy liquid gate,
pursuing its persistent, annual theme,
watery welcome to the verdure we await.
It's a torrent;
little trickle that brought hope,
now rushing boisterously without warrant,
with which only Infinite Power can cope.
Is this the way;
to the green and golden goal,
where dreams and longings see the light of day,
and spring comes to the land or to the soul?
©04/04/2011 Carol Morfitt