J.M. Owen

Persephone

It's a lighter world.
The fields are full, full of spring's things,
the orchards too:
birds' songs and buds,
wild flowers we once called weeds.
Pale sun in tepid skies.
And you, too seem clearer
in this dear daylight.
May I call you mother -
You with that full-moon mouth,
that knowing smile?
And shall we sit for a while
in the grove, and share stories
of our heartfelt absence?