Spring

by Frank Hubeny

The devil gets no peace. To sing
for him is more a punishment.
His time is short. It goes. It went,
but wrath remains a fearful thing.

We’re confident. Each coming spring
is but rehearsal for the end
when death is done and life can mend.
We can’t cling to an evil heart.
Please, make it new. Now let us start.
Tomorrow we’ll be home, my friend.

Tags: ,

If you enjoyed the poem. please leave a comment.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: