Saturday, December 18, 2010

For Brightfield, Fair Host

On newer ties that bind old friends,
affections grow, or change, or end.
Aged affectations to apprehend
the weighty flow'r sweet romance sends.
Tensions grow and branches bend
But interchanged, they lift again.

That bud which, budding, obscures the roots.
The petal asking, "thorn or shoot"
As truth betrayed by its own voice
decides its verity and makes its choice.

Oh, Spring, oh Spring,
Thou, Lady, spring.
Thine eyes art fair.
This is no slight
'gainst thine flaxen hair.
But though you set your glade grown there
Time now has come to move, to pare.

Oh, Brightfield, Brightfield
find your song.
Have no questions
after thinking long,
and smile, oh, smile, find unkempt joy
and let it loose, sing life, not noise.
Thou art made a saint today
by precious hands which, precious, lay
thine absolution upon thy brow.

Oh, rugged one,
most honest, sir,
I say thee this
Do take it sure,
This is thy time
And this is her.
Do let thy rhyme
and meter flow
for fem'nine song
to sing, to go
above, above
and then below.
Thou art the rhythm, let thy drums beat
and let thine step fall with tired feet.

Oh, to both, as this is said,
remember, remember, if pairing heads.
Do melt dark rock and feel no shame
in glory of thine asphalt flame,
In cul-de-sac of snowy lane.

Oh, Spirit, Ghost, flow ever free,
let souls find rest, let eyes now see,
Let joy be full in most pow'rful name.
And set, in hearts, your perfect reign,
Now cleansed of every smallest stain.

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