Hwaet! Listen to the spring!

Hwaet! Listen to the spring!
Hear the squabblings of the sparrows in the eaves, chirp-chattering, pert-prating,
hear their fluttering in the guttering, new-nesting, mad-mating;
hear the wildling warbling of the curlew, the long-beaked one, woe-full,
calling to the ancestors, late-loved, long-lamented, wandering the shore of shells;
hear the croak of the crows, clouded, crowded, dark-shrouded creatures,
harsh-creaking with the carrion-lives of their raw-fleshed ravagings.

Listen! Hear it all. Hear each one.
It comes, it’s here, it’s gone.

Like the faintest of breezes on the fine skin of your limbs,
it comes, it’s here, it’s gone.

Hear back, deep within each sound, the echo of Thor’s hammer, the big bang,
hear God’s voice, singing to you, singing to you.
It comes, it’s here, it’s gone.

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