A poem about life and death, in nature and in humanity |
The Seasons of Life Winter gasped and slowly, finger by finger, released its icy grip on the fertile earth Song birds gave a tentative peep, an inspiration to bud and seed, to arise from their slumber The sun rose high, duelling with the legions of winter, dispelling the darkness It was in the spring that she was born, a child of love, in a season of hope A new age had dawned, a new life engendered in a distant birthing room Mother lay with her first child, clutching it to her breast and prayed The days lengthened, life was lived to the fullest, the child grew Time stayed its course, creeping forward, marching to the great beyond A myriad of flowers smartly dressed in various hues, bobbed their heads in the sunshine No longer a child, but a woman, in the full bloom of life, potential Seeking her pot of gold on the heels of a ribbon of colour Tempests raged, life was tested, moved forward by an unseen, loving hand There was a subtle change in the air, the scent of something new Crimson and gold leaves hung heavy as plump grapes in anticipation of the coming days In the stillness of an early autumn night, the stars twinkled the message The tattered pages of a wall calendar, fluttered in reply A certain moment was drawing nigh, the hour was at hand Out of the blaze that is summer, new life was forged The child, soon to be called mother, gave birth to a beautiful son The days grew shorter, a sigh of contentment wafted over the crisp air All life was in deep meditation, remembering yesterday, longing for tomorrow Mother Earth can be harsh, even cruel, but never forsakes her own Relief would arise, riding on the divine spirit and give succour From the mountains it came, in the blink of an eye it was made manifest It fluttered from the heavens, bathing the earth in pristine whiteness Heaps of snow lay fat like moss on the north side of a towering fir All the earth enjoying a well earned siesta, dreaming of new life, the coming of spring Nestled in a tiny bed she lay, a life in the balance, her soul at rest The golden cord, paid out to a great length, a life lived to ripeness, giving life An invisible hand reached down, in an act of mercy, love, and severed the cord. It was in the winter she died, a child of love, in a season of gloom, to be born again. |