The last day that wept swept April rains
Rose thorns cut from stem pruned potential pain
Birds bold as love flew cross unashamed
Freedom spread like seeds tossed across green plains
The air was young new past birth and shame
Nature dipped her brush thick laden in paint
Ongoing artwork quiet mind tamed
A gift from the death of winter’s will slain
The center beautiful survival
The mark that life for itself always claimed
Strength, the tempest earth sea fire ether
Changed and prayed hope like the flowers of May.
Christopher Baird 2011 ©
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