The Yawning
“Hark thou bedridden Forsythia. ’Tis time to wake up.
You, so peaceful and contented; ’Tis me to interrupt.
You have been asleep for quite some time.
It is time for you to start your yearly climb.
The rays of the sun have loosened the soil
and disrupted the course of winter’s turmoil.
The snows have rightly dissapeared in the heat
from their battles with the searing sun in defeat.
The way for thy upward climb is warm and clear
from the basement and up to the highest tier.
Up there you can look up into the gracious sky,
sprout your yellow flowers and give a deep sigh.
You can sway to and fro with the summer winds
and dance until the eve of Winter’s term begins.
Then it will be time for you to go to bed and sleep
in your bedroom in the ground way down deep.
Then at the sound of April’s voices, you can come alive,
and the sun will be shining brightly when you arrive.
From the sleeping until the yawning until the dying days
you will perform your duties in nature’s subsequent ways.”
