Spring Will Come
(Howard Kaplan)

I have heard that the mother beaver
Feeling crowded within her den
Wants to know when her children will leave her
For she soon is to bear again.
Two long years they have shared her shelter,
Mud and branches, a floor, a dome.
When the ice-dams begin to melt, her
Children will leave for another home.
    Tell the beaver the sun is returning.
    Tell her, too, that you heard it from
    One whose kind has been granted this learning:
    Spring will come. Spring will come.

I have heard of the bear complaining
That the winter is far too short.
Days of spring that are warming, raining
Come too soon, by the bear's report.
Light and dry, like a falling feather,
Snowflakes pile; the drifts are deep.
Melting rains and the warmer weather
Flood his den to cut short his sleep.
    Warn the bear that the sun is returning.
    Tell him, too, that you heard it from
    One whose kind has been granted this learning:
    Spring will come. Spring will come.

I imagine the turtle thinking
Thoughts of spring and the flowing sap
As he left us in autumn, sinking
To the bottom for six months' nap.
Cooler weather had left him feeling
Tired and slow; he did not look well.
Soon he'll lie upon rocks where healing,
Warming sun will restore his shell.
    Tell the turtle the sun is returning.
    Tell him, too, that you heard it from
    One whose kind has been granted this learning:
    Spring will come. Spring will come.

I have heard that the two-legged creature,
Dressed for warmth in another's fur,
Thinks of me as a kind of teacher
Who has knowledge to share with her.
"Leave your burrow at early morning.
Seek your shadow," I hear her say.
"Is it welcome or is it warning?
What is it you predict today?"
    Tell the woman the sun is returning.
    Tell her, too, that you heard it from
    One whose kind has been granted this learning:
    Spring will come. Spring will come