Cycle Of Spring
Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #355
My soul is as a songbird caged
In the confines of these framed events,
In a bodily prison is it entrapped
And sings of its wingéd dreams.
In a twilight corner is propped the stage
Of its poor part with lines all dull,
A blind-deaf audience it must engage,
Repeat the charade of a lifeless spectacle.
Yet my song through bars of sense
Must wing and find Thy feet’s altar,
I offer Thee this broken melody’s notes
Like wrinkled hands offer a haggard flower.
To Thee I have offered my seasons of song,
Spare for my soul one full cycle of spring.