The White Blossom

To escape the Autumn rain we ran

under a blossom tree we found.

As the north wind came and blew its roots,

it grasped dark soil underground.

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In the Winter months we warmed ourselves

as the virgin blossom went to sleep.

we laughed out loud, we held on tight

to air like memories we tried to keep.

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Then Spring arrived renewing all,

breathing joy on the sleeping earth,

melting a sharp and bitter ice,

awakening life and the power of birth.

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We watched the tender blossoms grow

at its perfect time of year.

then we watched them drop like falling snow

as they whispered in our ear:

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They spoke to us of time and space,

of letting go in gentle grace, 

of coming and of going away,

of cherishing the everyday.

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It was strange to me that the touch of pink

in their white so pure caused me to think

of a hint of dying mixed with birth,

of an innocent heart with a beat of blood. 

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Heavenly petals covering the earthly mud.

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For many days we shared its gifts

of forgiving love and snow-white peace, 

as we let it clean the wounded parts

of hidden pain in our wintry hearts.

In a silent love, a forgetting day

our cares and fears had gone astray.

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So, I built a cottage beside the tree,

a running river flowing near to me.

As the snowdrop blossom grew and grew

its branches often blocked my view.

 

But I don't mind for I sit content

as the patient blossom sways and waits. 

Through the windows of my soul I watch

for its timely touch of eternal grace.