This is the place <br />Where only last week <br />All barriers were down— <br />Heaven surged <br />Directly into Creation, <br />Laying bare <br />God's every secret. <br /> <br />Here beside this hill <br />Hundreds of pink <br />Ballet-dancers <br />Stood poised upon <br />These branches, <br />Pirouetting and leaping <br />In the breeze- <br /> <br />Or was it a single bride <br />With dancers embroidered <br />On her gown— <br /> <br />A bride embraced <br />By that lover <br />Right over there <br />Sporting his new, <br />Gold suit, the color <br />Of First Light? <br /> <br />Already the dancers <br />are gone from the branches <br />And the leaves remaining <br />Resemble only ash, <br /> <br />While the nearby lover <br />Has changed into <br />His work suit of drab, <br />Midsummer-green. <br /> <br />My eyes strain <br />To find where <br />That Opening was, <br /> <br />Incredulous that Nature <br />Can so quickly divest <br />Her bride and groom, <br />Leaving no memento <br />Of their recent glory.<br /><br />Max Reif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-mutability/
