ROWAN

What green light beckons me into

the Spring Dawn?

'Tis the nodding, newborn leaves of

the blessed Rowan,

the ungraspable inflection of bliss 

at their first glimpse of 

the Great Fire in wildly various voices

ringing the sleeping forest awake.

And I am reborn to the birth-song of

this verdant chorus,

my spirit reawakening to Nature's

transcendent eloquence,

conceding my own ineffectual mortal

articulation of Creation's wonder 

scrivened upon pallid parchment.

Nay, these woods hold testimonials

of the Highest Artistry.

I shall not pray this Season

at your feet, leafed Sage,

for a facility with words; I shall implore

blankness, oblivion,

that I may lie upon your roots,

for to listen to Mother's own song,

that Earth may pen her hymn

to the Great Source upon my being.

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

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