“Morning”, a poem

Queen Elizabeth Rose

Queen Elizabeth Rose

MORNING

 

A wedge of sullen moon

Pales above

As life awakes beneath.

 

Birdsong threads through

Trees, a staccato cacophony

Anointing the air

Like colored ribbons

Weaving back and forth

The timbre ever changing.

 

Green spring trees, tender, tender

An early nursery of life

Can anything be wrong with the world?

 

The hammock swings gently of its own accord

Perhaps a haunt, a ghost invisible.

 

Faint gunshots last night

Where someone would

Impose their vile humanity

And we are startled for a moment

Until reclaimed by sleep.

 

This morning the hoot of a sleepy owl

Echoes the cry of a distant train

While seed pods from the maple

Flutter to the ground.

 

We have survived the dark, again,

Its blackened mysteries,

Uneasy, things that could draw up

Our breath.

We are cradled in Nature’s promise

Of life beginning again

And the moon above yawns, fades and disappears.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2014

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