I heard the song of spring, last night.
It began like some ancient rune.
Old as life itself, it was,
And I recognized the tune.

I heard the wild geese sing, last night,
Far up where they always fly.
A lovely, high-skied nocturne they sang,
Winging north in a velvet sky.

I heard the moonsinger howl, last night,
A ballad he'd learned to croon,
Months before on a snowswept ridge,
Silhouetted on the hunger moon.

I heard the creek break loose, last night,
From its hoary, armoured bond.
A glorious, free-voiced chant it raised
As it poured from the frozen pond.

I heard the wind god, too, last night,
His primordial wind song blow
On his trumpet huge, the warm soft notes
That drove away the snow.

All these things I heard, last night,
And they formed an ancient rune.
Old as life itself, it was,
And I rejoiced to hear the tune.


From Bronc to Breakfast & Other Poems (Buglin' Bull Press, 1988).
Used here with permission.