It was April when I came to earth, and a
gentle rain was falling
And the air was filled with the promise of
Spring – and so I waited until May
Then my eyes feasted with the beauty of
fresh flowers and the multitude
of growing things.

Then it was June, and my blood waxed warm
in the Summer sun, and I raced
across the meadows
And climbed all the hills and rested in the shadiest spots.

And while I ran and climbed and rested,
I caught and held many another thing,
Some filled with love, and soft,
like the Summer night
Yet others had thorns which were sharp
and pained much,
Until I learned to leave them alone.

Some  things had beautiful smiles or lips
with promises, but never fulfilled
Yet always waiting.
And others came that touched me lightly
and hardly did I notice
Yet when they left they took much of me
with them.

And with all this running and climbing and
resting – there were many sounds, like
the laughter of children
Or the sound of animals about their way
of life, or growing things.

The bursting of a million buds – while loud,
yet not loud enough to drown the distant
roar of cannon fire.
Nor the groans of those who died for causes lost.

A newborn infant’s wail, begins a life anew
yet never is he quiet
And even unto death he’ll speak of all the
things he is – and thrice times that of
which he’s nought.
 A boasting braggart he remains until the
end of time.

And then the Autumn came at last –
September wooed and wrapt the world about
in Autumn’s brilliant cloak
So fashioned from the leaves and spent
through sunshine
Now thus becomes a stolen thing.

Then, with a gusty sigh, gave up this cloak
and donned the Winter shroud
And cold became my blood, nor was
there strength to wend my way

And in the failing light of one last day,
I rode a sunbeam back to whence I came.
For would I rest awhile and so refreshed,
I could again seek out some April time
and in the falling showers,
I’d come again into a newfound Spring.

by Ernest L. Norman

Excerpt from The Anthenium