To everything there is a season
Still at the turn of the dwindling day,
Spring’s verdant abundance seems wasted and worn,
her glowing complexion now pallid and wan,
as if Winter resented the promise of May.
Leaf embers cool before Autumn’s bright blazes,
Summer’s briared passions burn down to bronze,
and a drab, brittle bracken displaces June’s fronds.
As virulent thorns encircle our faces,
anxiety grows until nothing else matters;
like a rosebud of light in a child’s mirror-scope,
life’s intricate pattern shifts—and then shatters.
Yet undeserved love can lift fear’s heavy yoke,
and the light of the Dayspring will leaven these shadows:
stilled but still turning our leaves towards hope.
Good Friday 2020