Mark the Time

Kim A McKee©

You cannot see the grass push up
So gently in the spring
The cold and gray will soon give way
To velvet hills of green
And squalls of swallows take your eyes
For the dancing in bare trees
Where swollen buds press visions
Of the leaves that long to be

Strong and supple grows the grain
In summers raptured sun
Your ears can hear the melody
That ripening has begun
The tune of pollen hums along
With the work song of the bee
The sound of honey captured there
In the poppies waving free

Brittled by the short cold days
In the dying of the fall
When morning dew it was its jewel
Brown grass cannot recall
It cannot sway or reach the way
It did beneath the thunder
The raw winds blow to lay it low
And fall grass will fade asunder

The hardening of the stream and breath
The stiffening of the bones
The silence of the farmer’s field
The empty finch’s home
All echo in a winter’s heart
The hollow frozen sound
And only in the flickering hearth
Warm dreams and hopes are found

The seasons beg the senses
To attend this hidden life
That blurs so gently between your days
And shimmers amid your nights
So mark the time that’s passing you
With stillness in your soul
With spirit eyes and spirit ears
The seasons will sing you home