Capture

 On the eighth of March, 

The light, the day changing,  

I didn’t know what to do with myself 

There was snow on the red rooftops of the barns

When I woke early on the morning

And I thought

I need more sleep

And later on the March morning

When I really did wake to the

New day, 

The snow was gone

And in the afternoon

Hovering, the moon rising mysterious 

In the troubled 

Most-blue spring sky 

I was reassured, in my own deep

And my sigh carried me to

As ever and ever 

Shall be