ODE TO SPRING

By: Paul Gordon Mathews


In an old long forgotten orchard site
I stumbled onto in deep woods with pine
And poplar grown to overshadowing height
I found an ancient apple tree alone.
The gnarled and hollow hulk obliquely stands
Worm-riddled, weather beaten, gaunt as bone
But one branch high above where brief sunshine
Pervades the shade of forest gloom
Still clings to life and burgeons into bloom
As if in memory of loving hands
That nurtured it with care so long ago
I feel a kinship with this ancient tree
That clings to life with such a will and draws
It’s last ounce of sap through dying limbs
To worship life with fragrant sweet applause!
I too would tell life’s raptures in my hymns
And show the world in sorrow, pain and strife
The sweet and ever blooming joy of life
And to the end, with faltering fainting voice
Give praise to God - and with my dying breath
Would sing:  There is no death -
Rejoice - ‘Tis Spring!


In Loving memory      July 22, 1918 - February 3, 2009