February snow like April, showers down a sigh, a kiss;
Down, soft down, wet down, soft down,
The last snowfall falls silent, like
When the white winter skies, and the drab spring melt,
Stole my hibernating soul:
Red buds and green sprouts, and sweet birdsong at dawn,
Could not rouse to a heartier goal.
So each day my skin paled; my sad spirits still failed,
Pessimistic thoughts assailed …
Till one morning my Lord prompted: “Open the door!”
And from out of my chair I arose …
Wild blossoms had sprung from winter’s thick thorns:
A bower, honeysuckle and rose!
My nostrils drank in this heaven-sent scent,
And my spirit’s glad rebirth,
Began when the lines that grief had lent
Showed signs of remembering mirth …
Ears opened and found a faint buzzing, was not a stinging wasp,
But the wings of a hummingbird feeding, on that same heady sap!
Eyes opened and saw the white dogwood in bloom,
It’s cruciform blood-red wounds,
Reminding that things seemed darkest,
Just before that first Easter dawn.