by Carl Thunem
- Image by Jasmic
How can I speak or sing or sigh – or signify
How can I tell you? How can you know?
The joy, the splendor, the love – a blessed communion
The sweetness of the sun beaming through my window in dolcet streams,
The first kiss of a warm and gentle spring.
Bathing and washing my hands of the dank drear cobwebs left
By a winter’s worth of bleak and barren toil.
Anointing my weary and broken head
With a soft sprinkling of the dappled honey of promise.
The rushing rising earth smell of the South,
Impetuous, imperious, capering through the house,
Gamboling in mirth with the scent of rising bread dough.
How can I tell you? How can you know?
A joy without singing, a mirth without speaking. Love’s spring.
