John Prosper

Just when we think the sun has gone on permanent vacation,

It draws back nigh to warm the land with perfect orchestration;

Then plants and streams and dormant kind,

Stir, as if some heavenly chime

Tolls darkness now is history;

Resurrect in victory!

So then our hope with patience kept,

While life around us only slept,

‘Twas not indeed a final curtain,

But only that of which we’re certain.