It is Well with my Soul BYU Vocal Point

Thursday, April 11, 2013

A Poem



Up like Steeples
Cynthia Lott Vogel
all rights reserved

Growth. 
Up from the frozen gloomy loam,
a  green appendage stretches,
 yawning his verdant yawn.
Breath of damp tundra.
Three church steeples appear in the ground,
A Holy Trinity of green.
Their worshipers gather. 
Lime.  Yellow.  White. 
Nestled in snow's furrows breathing out
hope for those who would inhale deep.
Catch the season in the scent. 
The golden orb: warmth inviting growth.
No more cramped crouching.
Come sway in the sun! 
But there is a dark rumor...
a mutter of frozen nights to be
yet borne and survived.
Make haste while the sun shines! 
We'll deal with the nocturnal bite when it comes.
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