Not Yet Buried
A blank’t of snow
The earth still sleeps
And condensation tears on window’s pane
Ice blue
Mute grey- the sky
Why spring’s delay?
For whom is winter’s freeze still held?
A hibernating pause-
Tis ‘t grief?
That stays this tomb-like cool?
What root or bulb o’ flower
Still needs be forced
By frost?
Then do!
Get on with dying- death!
And burst this shell!
The new, the green must come.
John 12: 24 "Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground,
dead to the world,
it is never any more than a grain of wheat.
But if it is buried,
it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over.
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