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A Sunday in March

It is morning
on the third day,
the sun is rioting
among the trees,
playing the banjo,
foot stomping
the still frozen ground.
In the sky
a vapor trail
left by an early morning fighter,
cutting the horizon in two.
Only the pines bow
in silence,
the sentinels of green.
If, with all creation,
you lean in to them closely,
you hear them whisper,
“wait.”

14 Mar 04


© Copyright 2004, E. Granger-Happ, All Rights Reserved.

Contents - Lent, 2004


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Document last modified on: 03/21/2004

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