The simple stories have not died,
The songs of youth, they are not lies.
Oh, April! Days of passion come
And truth is served when truth is done.
As love is crying all the while,
The miracle is in your smile,
Oh April, under loss and grief,
The surest sign of whole belief.
And, branch by branch, the lordly vine
Embraces you and me and mine.
No feeble graft: we are absorbed,
We know our name, we know the word,
We know the one that conquers us,
Who gives the kiss of peace, the just.
Oh, April, April child, your day has come,
The month for falls and cuts--all to be done
Upon the vine that crawls to us so we may grow
Just as we perish, and to be more than we know.
August 5, 2002
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2 comments:
Did you write this Anthony? It's really good.
Everything on this blog is by my hand, both the new and old things. The poems and prayers and songs I wrote in 2002 and 2003, when I wrote them more regularly, were the best I've ever done. Maybe some new bests are yet to come.
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