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Saturday, July 29, 2017

Let Me Flower As I Will

God, let me flower as I will!
For I am weary of the chill
Companionship of cloistered vines
And hothouse-nurtured columbines;
Oh, weary of the pruning-knife
That shapes my prim decorous life --
Of clambering trellises that hold me,
Of flawless patterned forms that mold me.

God, let me flower as I will!
A shaggy rambler on the hill --
Familiar with April's growing pain
Of green buds bursting after rain.
Oh, let me hear among the sheaves
Of autumn, the song of wistful leaves,
The lullaby of the brook that dallies
Among the high blue mountain valleys.
And may my comrades be but these:
Birds on the bough, and guzzling bees
Among my blossoms, as they sup
On the dew in my silver-petaled cup.

God, let my parching roots go deep
Among the cold green springs, and keep
Firm grip upon the mossy edges
Of imperishable granite ledges,
That thus my body may withstand
The avalanche of snow and sand,
The trample of the years, the flail
Of whipping wind and bouncing hail.
And when December with its shroud
Of fallen snow and leaden cloud,
Shall find me in the holiday
Of slumber, shimmering and gray
Against the sky -- and in the end,
My somber days shall hold no friend
But a whimpering wolf, and on the tree
A frozen bird -- so may it be.
For in that day I shall have won
The glory of the summer sun;
My leaves, by windy fingers played,
An eerie music shall have made;
I shall have known in some far land
The tender comfort of a Hand,
And the liquid beauty of a Tongue
That finds its syllables among
Wild wind and waterfall and rill --
God, let me flower as I will!

~ Lou Soret

Found in My Mother's Poetry Notebook

This one makes my heart ache with missing my mom, gratitude for who she was, and joy for her example to me.  God bless Almeda for ever and ever.

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