THAW  
Daffodils stoop in April snow.
Snow will melt.

Crows darken treetops with harsh songs.
Songs bring dawn.

Violets nod to the morning sun.
The sun rises.

Robins sing to morning light.
Light grows warm.

Worms press life into hard earth.
Earth hears God.

PRECIOUS LIGHT
Morning's constellations
In red and gold and platinum
Encircle the neck of dawn
Like so many fine old chains
Around the neck of a grandmother.

I would claim them for my own
If I could reach round to the clasp
And take the bright strands in my hand.
I would have them like a child
Seeking treasure in her grandmother's arms.

They are my grandmother's
Fine auburn beads and the chain of costume gold
She wore so often
She hung them in easy reach
From her bureau mirror.

All those precious parallel lines
Lead the mind's fingers to the edge
Of the sky

To the cool silence before sunrise,
When the birds mark time and
We are all children
Fingering precious light
In our grandmothers' arms.

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