Carol Bogart

Three big buzzards top the barn
..a break from acrobatics.
Once swept aloft, their wings a sail,
black feathers stretch out tautly. A sign of Spring, the buzzards are.
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Silvery strands of billowing lace
Bedecking a tree’s barren branches,
Beckoning all winter-weary souls on
In witness of Spring’s yearly promise. The maple, festooned liked a blossoming bride,
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Don’t get wrapped up in worldly things
Such things are transitory
In Heaven, where our Father lives
Are truly all life’s glories. Though bodies die, our spirits live.
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Look there! O, Lord, Thy work I see,
My Master, Great Creator.
Sunlight skipping ‘cross the creek,
Soft mosses still the forest,
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O’ Wing’ed ones
How free are thee
Soaring ever higher
Alert black beads glint in the sun
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Rugged roots, so old, so knarled
Yet trying still to hide
The bit of bank the creek has kept
Intact as it swirls by. A slender foothold does it seem
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