For the briefest of moments
For the briefest
of moments,
the emerald green
was lit,
by an opening door,
Spring walked
from the west,
bathed in silence,
light and
of summer gold,
the trees,
their leaves,
each of the millions
of blades
and grass,
lit in fires
of incandescence,
as she stepped
from the edge
of the evening sky,
and walked through
the shadows,
the last retreat
the gathering memories
of winter,
of dark
and of dusk,
in her hands she held
the stars,
at her breast
she wore the afterglow,
a blossoming time
of flowers,
and behind her head,
was the rising first
of summer,
the heady
intoxicating days,
of the fullness
of time and life
that are the weeks
of high summer
and of June,
she walked
and further,
into the meadows
and fields
that were opening,
as she passed
ripening in seeds
of birth, warmth
and fecundity,
for a while,
the briefest
of hushes,
of moments
and measures
of eternity itself,
the earth alone,
stood still
And sighed,
her tears
of loneliness,
lost in the hollow,
the emptiness,
of a forgotten
winter wind.
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