Carrion Spring

 

I saw amid the lambs at play,

One sleeping in the haze,

But something in that still repose,

Caused me to stop and gaze.

 

I looked down at the silent form,

And saw the stain of death,

Vitality had ebbed away,

No life, no spark, no breath.

 

Here early spring was carrion,

Here promise all was done,

And nothing could be set aside,

Beneath the fading sun.

 

But then what does it matter,

In mankind’s greater scheme,

Where lovers walk in rapture,

Where poets sit and dream.

 

For who gives absolution,

When the people live in dread,

And God alone is comfort,

For the living and the dead.