Another Virgin Spring

This winter bore a virgin spring.
     The mountains shed their snowy veil
And donned a purple gown of sage,
     of columbine and fairy tale.

As a mountain: How stoicly
     I my silent vigil keep.
As melting snow: How quickly love
     begins to thaw and seep.
Into wandering streams: How aimlessly
     my solemn life has run.
Into mountain lakes: So deeply cold,
     so coldly still alone.

How gladly deer, from crag to slope,
     upon the mounts cavort;
As sadly I resort to flight
     from airy dreams
     to bankrupt hope.
And I am still as much alone,
     just as much alone.

But when a fragrant scent of spring
     the newborn world secretes,
Its joyous reawakening
     the wintry death defeats.
For life, endued with hope, endows
     creation with this yearning:
We know the ebb is lowest
     when the tide is turning.

Then birds and beagles,
     cows and coyotes,
     snakes and chickens all join in:
Their chirping, barking, lowing,
     baying, hissing, clucking affirmation:
        Life is good!
And springtime moves the coldest beast
     to find a mate,
          to begin again.

Hope.
     We must find its promise
          and hold fast
              or perish.