Easter Benediction
Not yet flowers but green shadows of ivy
Climbing the white stone garden fence,
Pine pitch fragrance of chimney smoke.
Not quite Spring but the old impatience,
Deep-rooted gratitude for one more season,
For one less long winter to be endured.
The blessing of his work-weathered hands
Softly sewing seeds in the hunger of birds,
Wings and ashy smoke opening like flowers.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2011-04-24 at 16:17
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