Spring breaks the solitude of winter
            Splinters of ice dripping drops which dare not stop
            in the sparkling sun
a light that stands in between sips of chill
                                    and the hum of new life,
            air that tastes like a numb nothing,
yet the bare landscape starts to awaken
            and a flower emerges having shaken off the cold,
            it is old in that it is a child with a history
            yet startling new in that it has emerged,
wrapped in mystery
                                    (it came from silence, but now proclaims
                                    it was indiscriminate, but now has a name)
            arise, good shinning beautiful thing
            arise and sing of a future lying prostrate on the horizon,
You, flower, are a revelation,
            that which was hidden has been made manifest,
                                                this hour was ordained for your glory
                        yet words don’t seem adequate to tell the story,
            you are a drama determined in silence
            hidden from the violence of storm and darkness
                             but now your conversation is a kind of stillness
            you speak of things beyond speech    you give to each
                        a foretaste of invisible palaces
            adorned with joys more permanent
            than the beauty stored in your company
To witness your beauty
            Is a pure gift,                           giving me quiet in the heart
            Mending the rift that has disturbed my thoughts
            Plagued with fears
                        of what I ought to do vs. what I have the strength to bear,
            You are fair and all lovely in bloom
            I want to take you home,         into the chambers of my room
            But if I were to consume your gift
            Soon you would fade,
so I must leave you to go back to my trade
            Of hand and mind,      work and the whole toil of my daily bread
            I long to rest with you instead,
            Give me but a word, that having heard you speak
            I may return satisfied.
The flower speaks, but says nothing
            The intoxication of silence is overwhelming
            A sweet wine is this conversation,
            The flower is a dear friend,
            An image, captivating, deep without end
            But yet this moment will pass
            These everythings don’t last
            But rather speak of something which is eternal
            And does not change
            The flower foreshadows the supernal
            Arranged in the designs of creation
            And this flower is not alone, but is like a nation
            Of spring opening to the sun
            Having begun the dance
            Like a trance, my heart too is opening
            I sit before this vast parade
            And wade in a silence deeper than thought
            Caring nought for image or thing
            Lofty, like being carried on the wing of bird
            I have heard the melodies of flowers
            And in this hour I have responded.