(AT BARRINGTON SCHOOL)
I closed my eyes among the children.
The chatter of birds,
warblers.
Bows and violins,
horns, flutes,
the chorus of the kindergarten,
little flowers,
spring crocus,
in the pageant of the holidays.
A concert of carols,
notes overflowing the shore of
grandparents, mothers and fathers.
The school’s gym a platform
overlooking the season’s jubilee.
I fell into the music.
Let it lift my spirits.
See harbors from long ago
with garlands on the piers.
The ancient flyways of the birds.
Columns of clouds.
The forgotten joy of children’s voices.
Feet leading to the sun covered
water of the past.
Hymns rising from the rushes
of the winter bogs.
And each child a gift,
each gray head a glowing heart,
the clap of hands,
the sound of rising wings.
I sat in a necklace of children
formed from love,
whose eyes were the wreath
of the horizon
guiding us all
to a universe fashioned
in the infinitely young.