Autumn Easter Song

Listen:
Autumn dropping
Tomorrows from oak trees;
Whispering, "April!" in golden
Kernels.

Where Robins Call

Through city-sounds, I hear the new green word
That April in the country speaks. Joy-stirred,
I swift-wing back where robin bugles call
And larks release a splashing waterfall
Of melody to crystal-thread the dawn.
I watch the sunrise spill pale gold upon
A white hawk wheeling low against the blue.
The requiem of mourning doves tolls through
The wrens small chatterings. Then hush! Oh, hush!
Canary lyrics frill the willow brush
And fringe the hawthorne. Low-contralto clear
A killdeer-Angelus chimes, "God is near."
Prophetic are symphonic canticles
From fields, fresh-furrowed, blossoming with gulls.

Bronze Hour

From winter's crystal castle through the door
March left ajar, blond April trips again,
Calling to sleeping streams and trees before

She emerald-carpets all her glad domain.
What joy to hear the laughter of the hills,
The singing of the prairies through the rain!

The golden goblets of the daffodils
Hold spring's cologne. The lark sends from his flute
A fount of splashing stars in cadenced trills.

Filled with a beauty-ecstasy, as mute
And motionless I stand at the bronze hour
Of dawn, my heart-songs silently salute,

In awe, the Great Creator. By His power
The sun bursts forth, a blinding amber flower.

When Autumn Flames

I watch the autumn flame from bush to tree
And wish I were a child again as fleet
As the young doe, yet all regrets are sweet
For still I hold the springtime's ecstasy.
May each one find his autumn ripe with truth
To garner for his need before the frost,
Yet hold the singing April of his youth.

Disciplined by Loveliness

I have companioned with the lovely things
and walked with beauty
in the many springs
that I have known. Then in my heart
when autumn winds have shrieked
their lullabies,
I have felt April zephyrs
and watched new tendrils rise.
In winter's sculptured silence--
the artistry of snow--
I have heard beneath earth's crystal crust
the green things grow
and speak in syllables of spring
each lovely thing.

So when I hear my last shrill
autumn wind,
I shall recall a little hill
purpling with violets, and disciplined
by loveliness-recurrent, I shall rest--
like a blown leaf content
on earth's sweet breast--
and wait the wonderment,
the miracle of bird-song ... whirring wings ...
For always, always, there will be
the lovely things.

Even in Silence

Loneliness is an old man alone--
Long past fourscore, the venerable ancient
Lived in silence of solitude.
Forty years of loneliness,
Forth years since he had placed his Marie
To rest beneath the great pine she loved,
Under whose sheltering arms
The two had often sat together
In the quietude of companionship.
Compassion stirred the apathetic embers of my heart:
Kindled, I visited him.

"Lonely?" He echoed my question--
His eyes lifted to mine were like April violets
Beneath the blossom-white snow of his hair;
And his voice held the lyrics of a little river
Released from the boundaries of winter--
"No, my dear, not lonely,
Today the psalmist David has comforted me."

The Merry Horsemen Ride

Warm April fingers tap my window pane,
And April-footsteps patter on my roof.
Bright golden goblets fill with crystal rain.
The merry horsemen ride! Each magic hoof
Sends silver music echoing to the hills
Whose greening carpets are retrimmed with dock.
Ecstatically, a joyous lark-flute spills
A fount of jeweled blaze, but not to mock
The phoebe's gentle flare, but to express
A lilting rapture which cannot be stilled.
Ripples of youth, of springtime tenderness
Flow from my heart once more. My dreams fulfilled
Again I walk through valleys, lily-fair,
Hearing the call of beauty everywhere.

The Relief Society Magazine

To the Shrine of Our Birth

Ten of us grew, each a young alchemist
Blending our laughter with toil into play;
Drinking in awe from the sky's Milky Way;
Holding in April, a violet-tryst.
Seeing how pines reaching high could resist
Hurricane wrath and grow taller each day,
Stately we grew to touch God; knelt to pray
Talking with Him night and morning. Joy-kissed,
Working in wheat field, we found He was there.
Often at dawn we were standing tiptoe
Mounting a dream while the mysteries of earth
Challenged our daring--When lark-anthemed air
Calls, "It is April!" still ten of us go,
Silvered and tall, to the shrine of our birth.

My Heart Has Built a Hill

"I will return in April," I had said,
"To see the Mountain Bluebells wreathe this hill
With azure garlands." As the years swift-sped,
I could not leave my city-tasks but still
With the first crocus I would pledge anew
Watching the skeins of geese in northward flight.
Yet every April found me smiling through
Nostalgic tears for meadows clover-white
And greening mountains. I would ache to hear
Wind through the aspens and the night hawk's cry.
I could not be denied the stars so near
That I could pick them from my hilltop sky.
So now each springtime, though I cannot go,
I climb a greening hill where bluebells grow.

Miracle of Late Love

As one who leaves a shadow-darkened room
To face the blinding glory of the sun,
I shade my eyes: I cannot bear the bloom
Of April suddenly now March is done.
A thrush-flute spills a joy not heard before
In other springs; a brighter crocus peeps
Above the snow since you unbarred the door
My heart had closed on dreams within its deeps.

You came: I felt the April-Miracle--
The triumph over death ... Because of you
The stone gives way; my risen dreams annul
The years of storm; skies are renascent blue!
You brought the April with her gentle wind
To me whose heart had been March-disciplined.

Pioneer Granny

Pioneer Granny was fragile and old
And crippled with gout in the winter's cold,
But her tongue was unsharpened by pain: She would say,
"I'm waiting for April to come my way.
When a bluebird tips his hat to me
And calls 'Hello!' I'll be out! You'll see!"

While waiting for April--no sighs or regrets--
She wove us a lei of her word-violets.
Here stories brought stars to our wondering eyes--
Dear Granny, so near to her loved Paradise!

She came to this valley when she was a bride,
Crossing the plains with her John by her side.
She lived in a dugout but never was poor
With Sweet Williams blossoming by her door.

She helped build their cabin on sage-burdened loam
Then lovingly fashioned the spirit of home
Where patience intoned every word that she said;
Where she rested at night on a prayer-sweet bed.

She dreamed of a church and a school on the hill,
A store and broad roads ... toiled with neighbors until
The dream was fulfilled. (When she traveled by car--
No snow-plodding oxen--her dreams touched a star.)

She welcomed her babies, eleven she bore.
Reminiscing, she told us, "That was before
We boasted a doctor in this untamed land,
But I managed somehow by holding God's hand

And that of my John"--Her eyes lit with tears
Recalling the joy of those pioneer years.
Again she was feeling John's tender embrace
With all Heaven mirrored in each baby face.

"Divorce was unknown in our pioneer world
For wives were contented with wee fingers curled
Tight-clinging to theirs. The work of their hands--
Love's toil--left no time for dissolving the bands
Of marriage and home." She smiled at us then,
"Forgive me for preaching."--Eyes twinkled
     ... "Amen!"

Granny churned butter, made cheese, soap and lye,
Spun yarn and wove cloth; said, "My dears, if you try,
You can do likewise. I'll teach you someday."
But Pioneer Granny too soon went away.

She was waiting for April: Again with her cane
She would hobble outside forgetting her pain;
Like a brave little crocus or flashing blue wing,
Adorn with her brightness the portrait of spring.

She was waiting for April: She smiled at those near
Then closed her eyes saying, "I'll rest till I hear
A bluebird in Heaven call from the skies,
'Come, little Granny! It's April! Arise!' "

So Pioneer Granny went Home to her rest,
But her spirit is here in the valley she blessed.

How Granny Loved April!

Gran, who was little and fragile and old
And crippled with gout
In the winter's cold,
Her tongue unsharpened by pain, would say,
"I'm waiting for April to come my way.
When a bluebird tips his hat to me
And calls, 'Hello!' I'll be out, you'll see."

How Granny loved April! when with her cane
She would hobble outside
Forgetting her pain.
Like a brave little crocus or flashing blue wing,
She adorned with her brightness the portrait of spring.

Last winter Gran left us: She smiled at those near
Then closed her eyes saying,
"I'll rest till I hear
A bluebird in Heaven call from the skies,
'Come, little Granny! It's April! Arise!'"

How Deep the April Mud

The ghost of laughter
Haunts remembered rain-green April moments
When April violins were singing.
The moon-hung mystery of night
Brings no enchantment to weary soldiers.
Weighted with dead dreams, they say,
"How deep the April mud!"

Montana Poetry Quarterly

Eternal April

Autumn
Holds April
Dormant, clinging,
In the root and pod--
Eternal spring
In the arms
Of death.

Where April Sings Forever

When I am old and years have brought their gray,
Let me still walk a garden path with love
Remembering fire-opaled yesterday,
Seeing the white-winged gulls of hope above;
Where dreams still lingering an accolade,
Recall the lilac song-gifts I have known,
The tribute which the robins gladly paid,
The wealth of beauty every soul may own.
In this loved garden, let my heart by young--
Years may enhance the lilting power to sing.
Perhaps my sweetest song is yet unsung
So bid me feel the springtime burgeoning.
But let me stroll a garden where time's lever
Moves on, yet April sings in hearts forever.

April Calls

April calls afar,
Crystal lanes, each brittle star
Become a vanished art.

Spinning lilied looms,
Emerald carpets sprigged with blooms
Invite the errant heart.

Joy-adventuresome
Silver birches shyly strum
Their harps with artifice.

Age-old feet slow-creep,
But pulsing sap bids old hearts leap
With youth at April's kiss.

January Morning

Through frosted fronds upon my window pane
I longed to hear a bluebird spilling joy,
But there was only silence, crystal-clear.
Then came the merry laughter of a boy--
A little boy just climbing out of bed!
And April warmed my heart and winter fled.

Someone Is Coming

Someone is coming
Over the hill,
Golden her laughter
As wild daffodil.

Someone comes dancing
Over the land
A lithe* catkinned willow
The wand in her hand.

Someone who waited
For winter to pass
Is singing her name
In rain on the grass.

Someone delightful
Advances, we know,
For in her footprints
The violets grow.

Rinsed by a shower,
His flute crystal-clear,
A glad lark is calling,
"April is here!"

* Earlier version (before Path to Home) uses "little" instead of "lithe"

Lift Your Eyes

With eyes downcast in grief and doubt,
Slowly I walked a country lane.
I failed to hear the joyous shout
Of springtime after April rain--
A violet in greening sod
Whispered, "Lift your eyes to God."

The very greenness whistled then;
My ears received the robin's call;
My thoughts escaped their stagnant fen
To hear a laughing waterfall--
My heart held room for no regrets
Weaving a lei of violets.

For My December

Let love's green phrases
Return an April crocus
To tip its sun-cup.