The Summons

In morning
you sent
towering clouds
and fine ice driven
into spring roses,

red petals scattered
on pure white ground

and took my breath away,

so now I seek you
like death
clear and clean
in lingering day

as green and golden,
long shadows flow east
and birdsong fills
nodding trees.

Breathless
I hear you

in gentle rhythm
of swaying wind
I hear my father’s
song again

empty at last
fulfilled.

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!