it's spring
first robins
breezes
rain.
the doors long closed
by fear of cold,
flung open--
tentatively.
waiting. will the chill
hang too closely today?
and what of our hearts?
how to welcome a season of joy
coming out of the season of grief?
teach us gently,
Maker of the earthworm,
Writer of the chickadee's song,
Choreographer of the squirrel's playful gymnastics.
and lead us kindly,
give us life
as the breezes rustle our hairs
give us peace
as the sun shines its first spring rays on our skin.
bring us hope
as we anticipate that empty tomb
and the crocuses herald resurrection
daffodils speak of vivacity
robin-egg blue reminds of washing.
the driven snow is gone for now
harshness of our purity
we saw that to be pure, to be white
everything had to die
and just in time,
so we didn't despair,
you came to us--
in newness of life.
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