Ode

A limerick, a rhyme, a song

Pervades the light and merry throng

Of crimson rambling vines and leaves

A turquoise heaven through the trees

I can't but wonder if this strain

Of music woven in the wane

That haunts my heart in every year

To pen a single, yes a mere

Beginning or a passing note

Began when God Creation wrote

And wrote this too, this anthem long

Whose melody is here and strong

I must record the beauty frail

This golden and secluded vale

In season's play of history

This section full of mystery

But even so despite each page

Of my attempts in every age

To transfer sonnets into words

Or paint a rhyme of sky and birds

A single measure only comes

Of nature's song that always hums

The praise of God and ever wends

Beyond when lofty summer ends

And so I write of skies bright blue

Chrysanthemums adorned with dew

Of barren branches bathed in gold

And dells astir with leaves of old

I'll make a wreath of forest vine

And gather rose-hips to entwine

I'll set its band atop my hair

Inhaling draughts of crystal air

I'll call farewell to southbound geese

Go dashing through the leaves in peace

And ever with the seasons sing

"All glory be to Christ our king!"

autumn 2010