Waiting is hard
We await the breaking of winters crisp white dawn
here as the stuttering falling autumn creeps
across the meadow and down
from the branch and thorn.
We sit under the weight
of seasons past and breathe
out lung fulls of what is now been and gone
and won’t be recovered
except for the fragments
dimly lit by our pale human lanterns.
And watch. As we long for the kings return,
the sun to burn and we yearn.
Oh we yearn to see what he brings in his wake.
For certain as the great tides
of his wonderous tapestry rise
and fall under their clouded garments
so will it be with him when he appears.
We await his great season of gravity reversal
and this long rehearsal
is no more than those fading fragments.
His glorious weight descends.
We watch as nature bends