Voice Of The Sun

“Rise up ye revenants of the dark,
From inside the cold tombs buried beneath
That petrified, frigid soil that’s not soil
As it was before winter blew its sinister breath
Upon the vibrant, fragile foliage that
Worshiped the sky and dotted the knolls,
Where refugees from winter’s assault
Take haste and come back to life again
To peek through the earth and
Stand up proudly before me, their master.
‘Tis I, summoning you
As I do each springtime,
Raising you from the dead,
When the grip of winter
Loses its potency,
As all tension tires as it must,
As it succumbs to the heat
And the mercy of Mother Nature.
I am the voice of the sun that
Commands you to take heed. It is so.”

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