It's been a mild winter in Indiana this year - nothing to complain about. Yet, we languish, wishing for the spring. It will come soon, as we see the tips of buds in the trees, and the tops of the daffodils beginning to peek through the ground. It's time to dig up an old poem of mine, never published. I found it waiting for me in a drawer. It's written in an old style of mine, and written (in some measure) in honor of a friend who has lived with Lou Gehrig's disease for many years now. Blessings to you, and sleep well until spring.
What kind of dawn is this
to loom before the day, so bold?
Pink colors lure one from soft bed
to greet the earth and sky, transcendent in this flight.
A growing, living glow burst from blueness
that becomes a scarlet ribbon on heaven's throat
a swirling comet motionless in space
a crevasse of fire in the sky.
Living dawn so wondrous and magical
that life returns to the earth and heart
a day that begins as a smoky, golden thread
blooms true - orange and peach as no fruit ever dreamed to be.
Most will blink and miss it
but those who view
will know all is well
that there is hope -
a private dawn under the sun.
Where nothing is ever new
something is - this radiant dawn
that makes this day, mine.
SLG
What a lovely poem. Nice to find an old friend from the past.
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