That day when I looked out, the branch was bare.
The green before the empty winter left
And caused my woeful heart to feel bereft.
I could not bear this keen and wan despair.
So there I sat, reflective of my lot
And wondered at the futile course of life,
Commotions, fruitless strain, and blaring strife.
Then comes the dismal day when I am not.
It was when on the branch the green returned
That I in summer mood began to sing
And Lachrymose with joyful Ardor spurned.
I thought of what my winter humors bring–
By patience through the Spirit overturned
That makes in winter place for verdant spring.
Michael G. Tavella, Lent 2, March 5, 2023