The Endless Recycling of Life.

When dawn breaks,

birds begin the task 

of lilting litanies, 

that clash so,

with my morning news 

spread silent before me. 

I find my words 

worth on each page, 

from sorrows men 

have pressed, 

but there are no 

such worthy words, 

to capture natures dress. 

Forsythia will not forsake, 

the brightening 

of my mourn, 

while crocuses 

peep lovely heads, 

on nature's hems reborn, 

From winter's coldest, 

last embrace, 

she sweeps in 

splendid form, 

her tulips bend 

to kiss the earth, 

her sky blue eyes so warm. 

Around me though 

the world's at war, 

it seems it always is 

as new life blooms 

on unaware, 

each flowered cup, 

opens to sup, 

the fresh dew 

from Springs air, 

Yes, even in Afghanistan, 

poppies graced 

the killing fields, 

they bloom out of 

crushed Hummer tracks, 

the growth it will not yield. 

and now more pain 

in the Ukraine

as wars demons 

all rise again 

The birds fetch worms

and feed the needs 

of fuzzy newborn hopes, 

while young men fall, 

God blesses all 

earth's beauty 

helps us cope. 

Thus from the earth

where we're all bound 

life burst forth to reclaim 

the beauty that the bitter steals 

perhaps we'll do the same. 
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