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| Dmitry Sysoev |
The Enkindled Spring
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of green-fire trees, and flame-green bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up, and the flickering, watery rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of earth, this blaze
Of growing, these smoke-puffs that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people blowing across my gaze!
And I, what sort of a fire am I among
This conflagration of spring? the gap in it all --!
Not even palish smoke like the rest of the throng.
Less than the wind that runs to the flamy call!
D. H. Lawrence
Fire! Spring as a fire.
With all of fire's qualities - blazing, bursting, lifting, smoking.
Green fire.
I see it!
That sudden coming to life, that flaring out and swaying in the air, catching and
spreading till everything burns with spring.
Even people, moving in and out of my sight, flame like fire and the smoke of them lingers on.
But myself - how do I fit in this world on fire?
Am I not meant to burn as well?
To come alight with newness and force and growth?
Will not spring enkindle me?
