Time of Singing

Time of Singing
 
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing is come.        Song of Songs
 
The one has come for our girl,
she who was born a woman and her own.
The one has asked for our blessing,
has made her heart to open again.
 
The time of singing is come.
Snow melts and soaks
into the warming earth,
into the thawing river,
and the first green frogs
begin their peeping rhymes.
 
The one has come,
leaping over the hills
between his home and ours,
to ask what our girl
has already answered,
to ask in the old way
the ones whose own song
long ago unraveled,
ask if he could steal her,
she who never belonged
to anyone but herself.
 
And, yes, of course,
we sang, muted at first,
embarrassed, and yes
we louder sang,
finding the old religion
in our throats.
Yes, love is better than wine,
is stronger than death,
and, lo, yes, lo,
the winter is past.
 
Happy Anniversary, Anna and John!
S. Robbins, on the occasion of your wedding, August 29, 2015

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