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Title: Song Of A Woodland
Author: Fay Inchfawn [
More Titles by Inchfawn]
Stream Silent was I, and so still,
As day followed day.
Imprisoned until
King Frost worked his will.
Held fast like a vice,
In his cold hand of ice,
For fear kept me silent, and lo
He had wrapped me around and about
with a mantle of snow.
But sudden there spake
One greater than he.
Then my heart was awake,
And my spirit ran free.
At His bidding my bands fell apart, He
had burst them asunder.
I can feel the swift wind rushing by me,
once more the old wonder
Of quickening sap stirs my pulses--I
shout in my gladness,
Forgetting the sadness,
For the Voice of the Lord fills the air!
And forth through the hollow I go, where
in glad April weather,
The trees of the forest break out into
singing together.
And here the frail windflowers will cluster,
with young ferns uncurling,
Where broader and deeper my waters go
eddying, whirling,
To meet the sweet Spring on her journey
--His servant to be,
Whose word set me free!
Luggage in Advance
"The Fairies must have come," I
said,
"For through the moist leaves, brown and
dead,
The Primroses are pushing up,
And here's a scarlet Fairy-cup.
They must have come, because I see
A single Wood Anemone,
The flower that everybody knows
The Fairies use to scent their clothes.
And hark! The South Wind blowing, fills
The trumpets of the Daffodils.
They MUST have come!"
Then loud to me
Sang from a budding cherry tree,
A cheerful Thrush . . . "I say! I say!
The Fairy Folk are on their way.
Look out! Look out! Beneath your feet,
Are all their treasures: Sweet! Sweet!
Sweet!
They could not carry them, you see,
Those caskets crammed with witchery,
So ready for the first Spring dance,
They sent their Luggage in Advance!"
[The end]
Fay Inchfawn's poem: Song Of A Woodland
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