Her summer hung to fading hopes
as failing days gave way
to bristling winds caressing slopes
beyond the prayer of May.
The air grew chill, as trees undress,
she danced with falling leaves;
the skies had darkened, I confess
my love as she conceives.
We breathe as one, my love and I,
a dance with song and hill.
A gentle kiss from earth and sky
inscribes with fevered quill.
an audience – beyond the veil –
has held her hand in birth;
and heard within, a baby wails
with mother’s joyous mirth.