Cynthia Zhang, April 11, 2014
(Originally written January 19,2012)
Hope
Is spring
possible?
The hollows
echoed the question.
The question
reached out to the cattle,
Wide eyed
and silent.
In the
little dome of
One small
corner of the earth,
Snow-flakes
whipped
The face and
the steps,
Nudging for
an answer.
How could
spring be possible
When days
were so short
And nights
so long?
Steam
swelled over the lake.
Ripples
shook the ducks to say no.
Listen, the
cementing of the ice
Was rumbling.
Life would
crack
Under its
weight
Tomorrow.
But still the
question was pressing.
It shot its
arrow to the nature,
Urging for a
positive:
Only you can
take and give.
The mother
nature
Is more than
patient
In its
yearly statement:
Spring is to
blossom.
Summer is to
flourish.
Fall is to collect
fruits.
Winter is to
terminate.
To terminate
is to start anew.
To restart
is to nullify again.
To give but
not take is deprivation.
To take but
not give is corruption.
Listen
again, spring is coming.
When the
first breath of warmth
Wakes up the
forest,
The upright
tree opens its fist
Of tender
yellow leaves.
The stem
climbers creep for a kiss
And extend
heart felt greetings.
When the
first chirp of blue martin
Breaks the
silence
Of the
animal kingdom,
Deer dance,
Rabbits
jump,
The tiger asks
for
The
wellbeing of his prey.
Holding
hands in the air,
Locking
roots in the soil,
Trees’ tenor
surges over
Vines’
choir:
Hope is the
best of things!
Out of
bloody ashes,
A phoenix
soars
Over the green
torrents
Of life.
