The light broke,
thin-rimmed, over the empty hill's horizon,
Flooding quickly through
the moisture-laden trees.
 |
| Alchemilla leaf after rain. Beren Hartless |
In the grey-green Alchemilla chalices.
Even the skies had wept, dark in desolation,
As creation staggered, and the sun grew dim.
Tree and garden waited,
Bursting buds still, as if with frost,
Carrying their load of tears.
No wind whisper in the sombre cypresses,
No Spirit breath.
All birdsong silenced in the growing dawn.
But with the light,
Gold-streaked,
Expanding, rhapsody enhanced,
The ecstatic air knew once again
Its jewelled source;
Glittering in a thousand crystal drops,
Dancing in the rainbow pools,
It sang its fragrance to the waiting thrush,
Who joyously called out
Her triumph song:
"Glory,
He is risen!"
This Spring has seen
The final passing over of
the Angel of Eternal DeathFor those the Lamb has won.
