The Bird and Baby

And now, after roads besmirched,
And alleys grim,
Our feet find purchase,
On soft, verdent fields,
Unperturbed by progress.

Without fear or second thought,
Our minds give way;
Returning to forgotten days,
Long before the Winter’s breath,
Gave voices to our foes.

Coerced by the break of day,
Our heavy eyes survey,
And cherish the darkness faded;
Relenquishing it’s reign,
To the unrivaled Dawn.

The silence, once thick as death,
Retreats bitterly with it’s ruler,
And leaves behind sweet refrains,
Humbly exalted,
By the fluttering valley fauna.

And now, here we stand,
Cautious of grace,
Yet elated at this onset;
Uncertain of where,
These joyful days might take us.

For after each meadow,
Surely comes the hollows.
And quick upon the summers heels,
Must also follow Winter,
And with it bring the gale.

Still, perhaps, this does us well,
To see eachother through such tides,
For such beauty in grace,
Can only be seen,
Emerging from a great darkness.

Perhaps the walls we build,
Don’t rise with the tempest,
But bow to the howling,
And in it’s wake,
Show love we thought long gone.

And now, the vista widens,
Ascending to snow capped mountains,
That alike a newborn,
Gently cradle the azure skies,
Speckled with ivory wisps.

Before our feet,
This road extends further still,
Tenderly weaving between,
Shallow grassy hillsides,
Blanketed by flowers in bloom.

Still, think not on the road this day,
For we shall take it shortly.
To embark upon this epoch now,
Seems a tragedy in making,
That we might pass this haven on.

Yes, the old songs of youth are gone,
Unable to be claimed,
But let us sit below the crown,
Of this ancient haired oak,
And by the rivers ebb, compose.