Summons

In the morning
you sent clouds towering
and drove fine ice
into the tender rose,

(its red petals scattered,
a holocaust
on pure white ground)

and took my breath away!

Father, I seek you
like death,
clean and clear
in the ringing air.

Green and golden,
long shadows flow east
and birdsong fills
your nodding trees.

In the gentle rhythm
of the swaying wind
there I hear
your song again.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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