Bitter Skies Give Dawn to Replenished Earth

Bitter skies give dawn to replenished earth.

A man dies, and the child is born anew,

Though I find no inspiration in such birth

Nor can this muse show me anything of worth.

I know the tepid breath of spring inspires

Countless scribes and endless verses, too

But nature in all her celebrated fire,

Within my thoughts grow forlorn and tired.

Let Wordsworth keep his lonely clouds

And Whitman to plant his leafy grass

To Dionysus's hands, I am not bound

Nor in Liber's service am I found.

For a tree can not please my artistic mind

Like a man's reply to his tormented past.

Can a rainbow feel a thousand ways

When a lover looks the other way?

Waterfalls and rocks and tinted leaves

Can I do no justice with my trusted pen

When a hopeless woman still believes

And though is blind, she still can see.

The motivation I desire to call forth

Is the love and hurt from which it's stemmed.

No, I admit nature gives this writer no worth

As bitter skies give dawn to replenished earth.

April 4, 2007