Lord of Life, you are turning the ground
green around me.
The warming sun and the nourishing rain
are renewing the life
of the soil.
The birds of the warm months are
all returning — the alien starlings
in their noisy multitudes,
the fierce-eyed, raucous grackles, too.
Even the nighthawks,
the dark-sky hunters are in the air,
calling and calling
in the chilly, predawn gloom.
The insects arise from who-knows-where.
They fly and crawl and stir to life
from eggs
secretted away last fall,
a team of forerunners who will
in time
be joined by armies of their armored fellows
in uncountable millions and millions.
Will you, my Lord,
bring new life
to my dead and sin-blown soul?
Will you, my Lord,
stir the dead husks of my spirit
into green shoots?
Will you, my Lord,
bring back
the soaring hope of my life,
driven away by the icy storms
of godless self-serving and pleasure-seeking.
I am as dead as
a sub-zero winter’s night
–windswept, frozen, and still.
Will you renew to my soul yet again
the lush, song-filled summer surgings
of life and fruitfulness,
O Lord of Life?
©2014 Gary A. Chorpenning; all rights reserved.
Gary Chorpenning's Notebooks 