blossoms
on the
chosen
vine
evoke
feelings
most
sublime
of
moments
past
divine
its true
but
adult certainties
askew
the innocence of youth
and
as
upon
an
April eve
as thoughts
of
resurrection
turn
to
cyncism
and
fear
I lift you
tender
lift you
close
as
on the
edge
of
mountain
rose
we stare
where
eagles stir
and
neither
ghosts
nor
spirits
ware
the certainty
of
son rise