Three big buzzards top the barn
..a break from acrobatics.
Once swept aloft, their wings a sail,
black feathers stretch out tautly. A sign of Spring, the buzzards are.
Silvery strands of billowing lace
Bedecking a tree’s barren branches,
Beckoning all winter-weary souls on
In witness of Spring’s yearly promise. The maple, festooned liked a blossoming bride,
Don’t get wrapped up in worldly things
Such things are transitory
In Heaven, where our Father lives
Are truly all life’s glories. Though bodies die, our spirits live.
Look there! O, Lord, Thy work I see,
My Master, Great Creator.
Sunlight skipping ‘cross the creek,
Soft mosses still the forest,
O’ Wing’ed ones
How free are thee
Soaring ever higher
Alert black beads glint in the sun
Rugged roots, so old, so knarled
Yet trying still to hide
The bit of bank the creek has kept
Intact as it swirls by. A slender foothold does it seem