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

He Turned Aside
The Brazen Eagle Soars