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Springing Autumn

Budding Seeds of Hope in the First Foggy Morn of Autumn…

The Hope Seed

Slender was the thread; an’ aye:
On that thread my breath was hung.
Raining, pouring from the eye
Ravish’d seeds of ‘hope’ dids’t sprung!
Yawping yon the yellow birches:
Said, they cried, bitter, untried –
Hope then grew, the life anew!
An’ adnascent was the lark:
Implexed her form, like autumn morn
Lasting – that creator ‘guised!


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