We slip in and out of view,
one curtain opens, another closes,
a new-born cries, a child weeps.
The sun sets, sinks
and then emerges again
as though nothing has occurred.
That life has a way of turning over
is both brutal
and hope filled.
We need something
to look death in the face
and obstinately resist it.
We need something,
even when the odds
are set against us,
to persist like the greening of spring,
the thawing of snow.
The world looking entirely new.
But still, we’ll take our flowers to the grave sides
and light candles for remembrance.
For prayer vigils.
No returning spring can remove a present pain.
Though the morning arriving
is the dark night’s certain lifeline.
And the child weeping
will yet smile.
And the woman with her infant
will tell the truth again,
of how it’s ever been
a baby who’s restored to us the world.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry