written_leaves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
written_leaves) wrote2009-12-23 09:08 am
written_leaves) wrote2009-12-23 09:08 am
Poems for coming spring - Silver Day & First Wind plus Honey for a cup of Tea
Behind my hand that holds the door,
The stove burns warm, the kettle steams -
But still I stand and clutch my coat,
To fill my breath with the greener things
I sometimes wonder if the most important things in this life are much softer and smaller than we think they are. A cup of tea in the sunlight, a change in the air with coming spring.
Silver Day
It was a silver sort of day,
So soft the grey clouds overhung,
A day of muted colors, winter
Not quite faded, spring not sprung -
It was a silver sort of day,
A quiet day of daily chores I found,
Of errands run and papers pushed,
Things swept up, shook out, wiped down.
Within a pause scented of tea,
I stopped a moment, pulled a glove,
Plucked a petal of flower's time
To see what friends had written of -
Upon that screen glowing so bright,
So many dear ones brought to me
Their greetings sweet; I heard them not -
Yet in mind their voices came to be.
Greetings of friends, of those we love!
Encouraging words to cheer and stay,
Even when softened by distance and time,
Shine bright on a silver sort of day.
-
The First Wind
The wind that sweeps across the fen,
Bestirring branch of gorse and yew,
How sweet its scent, so cold and fresh,
To bring to mind the greener hues.
My eyes delight with winter's mute;
Deep brown the earth and red the clay,
Bright grey so oft the skies above,
And white-gold shines the dry-grass waves.
Winter holds a beauty, true,
When quiet lies the lands we know,
And clear the stars, and white the frost
That dazzles and bedecks them so.
Behind my hand that holds the door,
The stove burns warm, the kettle steams -
But still I stand and clutch my coat,
To fill my breath with the greener things:
That first rich wind, still blowing chill,
By this we know the Winter's end -
For though the world lays drabbed and dun,
Life's palette stirs with green again.
-
A Drop of Honey
A drop of honey for the tea,
Tip the honey-bear and pour me out;
Golden jewel drawn from the bee,
Swirl it slow.
Sweet brooklet to babble
Over the tea-leaves and into the mug:
Steaming light with fragrance,
To wisp away doubt.
Given a singular sunbeam to ravel
Steam dancing, essence ethereal,
Light and vain-lovely as dreams,
Blossoms and leaves.
-
The stove burns warm, the kettle steams -
But still I stand and clutch my coat,
To fill my breath with the greener things
I sometimes wonder if the most important things in this life are much softer and smaller than we think they are. A cup of tea in the sunlight, a change in the air with coming spring.
Silver Day
It was a silver sort of day,
So soft the grey clouds overhung,
A day of muted colors, winter
Not quite faded, spring not sprung -
It was a silver sort of day,
A quiet day of daily chores I found,
Of errands run and papers pushed,
Things swept up, shook out, wiped down.
Within a pause scented of tea,
I stopped a moment, pulled a glove,
Plucked a petal of flower's time
To see what friends had written of -
Upon that screen glowing so bright,
So many dear ones brought to me
Their greetings sweet; I heard them not -
Yet in mind their voices came to be.
Greetings of friends, of those we love!
Encouraging words to cheer and stay,
Even when softened by distance and time,
Shine bright on a silver sort of day.
-
The First Wind
The wind that sweeps across the fen,
Bestirring branch of gorse and yew,
How sweet its scent, so cold and fresh,
To bring to mind the greener hues.
My eyes delight with winter's mute;
Deep brown the earth and red the clay,
Bright grey so oft the skies above,
And white-gold shines the dry-grass waves.
Winter holds a beauty, true,
When quiet lies the lands we know,
And clear the stars, and white the frost
That dazzles and bedecks them so.
Behind my hand that holds the door,
The stove burns warm, the kettle steams -
But still I stand and clutch my coat,
To fill my breath with the greener things:
That first rich wind, still blowing chill,
By this we know the Winter's end -
For though the world lays drabbed and dun,
Life's palette stirs with green again.
-
A Drop of Honey
A drop of honey for the tea,
Tip the honey-bear and pour me out;
Golden jewel drawn from the bee,
Swirl it slow.
Sweet brooklet to babble
Over the tea-leaves and into the mug:
Steaming light with fragrance,
To wisp away doubt.
Given a singular sunbeam to ravel
Steam dancing, essence ethereal,
Light and vain-lovely as dreams,
Blossoms and leaves.
-