SAMPLE POEM
HOPE SPRINGS
It must start somewhere, a hidden place,
well off the main road yet closer
than the music of small farms
that changes with the seasons' light
and the rain's direction, rain that finds
its own beginnings in music—the wind,
sun, and dry fields calling to
each other until their song falls
in a happiness untraceable
and sharp and maybe even a little
bit warmer than the thick air around you,
this air an excess of sorrow,
your deliberate god
that also started somewhere,
eternal and busy making
its own inscrutable hymn.
© 2010 Jeanne E. Clark
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