A poem for the season

A poem for the season
Thanks to local poet John Breen for writing this poem and sending it to me:

Cross-Country

In the Mid-South the snow is falling

and out West there’s a frost on the vines.

In the far North the wind is calling

with a prayer for peace among the pines.

In the valley of the avocados

Mexicans in their shacks dream their dream.

In New England where the cranberry grows

pickers have left their tools along some stream.

O, the heart of man can blossom

just like a new-born leaf

So praise each star and stone,

our time is very brief.

There’s snow upon the railroad track,

looks like the vision of a ghost.

Your brother’s gone. He’s coming back.

He took a trip along the coast.

Within this silence some unborn thing

glistens beneath the fallen snow

and clouds above foretell that spring

is the outcome of winter’s woe.

O, the heart of man can blossom

just like a new-born leaf

So praise each star and stone,

our time is very brief.

And while the waters bubble and the salmon roam

and a strange wind goes through the northern woods

I shall perhaps build myself a home

and tell the whispering sea my many moods.

And here I’ll stray among the rocks.

I’ll listen to the song of the sea.

I’ll touch the sand where there are no clocks,

I’ll bless the world and all the things that be.

O, the heart of man can blossom

just like a new-born leaf

So praise each star and stone,

our time is very brief.