While the world keeps on turning, I will.
While the world wakes up to spring,
disrobes in autumn,
I will trust in the seasons.
I will not take my queue from news stories,
or another’s gloom,
but will be like the riotous blossom,
or the red maple ablaze.
I will not faint, lose heart,
forget, how under feet
is the very confirmation of our existence,
its continuance.
Every leaf shed,
or blossom caught by the wind,
become now mulch to feed
tomorrow.
There have always been the doom forecasters,
and we too agreeing with them—
in the midst of the storm
there seems only devastation.
Yet, the world sheds herself
as snakeskin each turning season—
flowers growing where blizzards blew,
snow melt dissolving in sunshine.
When the day seems slow to arrive,
I will adhere to the moon’s light,
will look for the silver lined signs
given us to dispel the dark.
And when the seasons do change,
will see it as a queue to believe in tomorrow.
Not until she gives up, this earth,
in her breathing,
will I lose all courage.
And until then, like the birds
who sing with true reason,
will drown out fear with song,
will praise the break of day.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
Palm Sunday, April 2023
Now, though I am with eventide, my heart is still veiling dawn,
From ‘Youth and Age’ by Khalil Gibran
And though I am with autumn, my ears still echo the songs of spring.
But my sadness has turned into awe, and I stand in the presence of life and life’s daily miracles.
Living Tree Poetry 