I’ve pondered this one throughout the day. It suddenly hit me and I had to remember most of it until I got home to start writing it. Rather glad about what I’ve managed to salvage.
When you sing your ceaseless song
In the cradle of the ages,
Time itself crawls down along
To see the spring scrawled in my pages.
You gave the birds their trilling tunes
And taught them how to praise the sky
And all that flourishes and blooms
Takes root inside your watchful eye.
Brought you this our mighty sun
To wash over the midnight’s gloom,
To make whole the walls undone
Of the fortress of my doom.
And the warmth lingers inside
Of the summer’s vessel, I,
Bearing burns to cure the pride
That I no longer wish to hide.
You drench the forests and the hills
With a pouring violent blue,
Divining all sketches and stills,
Exhuming the canvas anew.
And the tears that sate the fronds –
Weeping angels, falling stars –
They stream towards autumnal ponds
With the fury of our beating hearts.
The chill that honours my remains,
I wish that all the world would feel,
To learn to mourn the long gone rains
That fled for winter’s pallid steel.
And in this white and deathless sight,
In every flavour, every form,
Madness claims my ceaceless fright
And you turn my winters warm.