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