V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

After the torch-light red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience

We who live
Still sweat with effort

Summer gardens abuzz
Still abound with fragrance

Stones make stairs
Still reaching toward stars

Pitch and place and reverberation
Still combine as music

Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
Still living, if soon enough dead