He who learns must suffer, and, even in our sleep, pain that we cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God. - Aeschylus

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Morning Glory

An old poem of mine that seems appropriate for the season of Spring showers and Spring flowers.

Morning Glory

The pitter-patter of little drops comes for me,
marching on gentle air to the morning glory.
God’s tears are on the grass and in the skies,
a soft reminder of why the old willow cries.

Somber memories are crushing the moment,
filling me with sadness at my maker’s lament.
Those tears are for me and for everyone here,
a grieving of love for a world of hate and fear.

The clamor of clouds jousting ceases for me,
letting peace dance across the morning glory.
The waters of life are for growing and birth,
a new start for the spring of cheer and mirth.

Unexpected gifts are drifting down for us,
reigning on gentle air from the one we trust.
Death re-creates the old and leaves us whole,
a washing away of soil that clogs our soul.

Light fills my eyes and reveals true beauty,
opening me to the petals of morning glory.

Note:  Photo credit goes to me.

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