Death in springtime,
in the contemplation of the morning flower.
Behold forever like rainbows of darkness
for birds of spring speak silent thoughts from all the death of war.
Your voice is like a silver fire
which cries for justice in the wilderness
with echoes roaring up in dreams of love.
By cruel deaths do kind hearts remember
and build wisdom by the stature of the mighty stars.
Green waves of oceans bright
contain so greatly that complexity of form in thought
which reigns upon the hills of evermore
and thunders down like mighty storms with moving waters.
The blessed touch of water from the rivers of wisdom.
Oh so they carry up our hearts into clouds of white
and into blissful rays of sun
like stars in the grass so green.
For now that wisdom from heaven is here with us.
The blessed touch of love is now the fountain of justice.
The foaming waters are now the presence of your voice.
You marched upon the halls of power
to bring free the land of oppression
only with words of simple peace.
Your death came in springtime.
Our tears for you are oceans of blue light,
flickering silently and forever throughout the universe
like a ring of beauty in the good darkness of the heart.
(Martin Luther King Jr. died in springtime, April 4th, 1968).