Fides, Spes

Willa Cather 1873 – 1947

Joy is come to the little

Everywhere;

Pink to the peach and pink to the apple,

White to the pear.

Stars are come to the dogwood,

Astral, pale;

Mists are pink on the red-bud,

Veil after veil.

Flutes for the feathery locusts,

Soft as spray;

Tongues of the lovers for chestnuts, poplars,

Babbling May.

Yellow plumes for the willows’

Wind-blown hair;

Oak trees and sycamores only

Comfortless bare.

Sore from steel and the watching,

Somber and old,—

Wooing robes for the beeches, larches,

Splashed with gold;

Breath o’ love to the lilac,

Warm with noon.—

Great hearts cold when the little

Beat mad so soon.

What is their faith to bear it

Till it come,

Waiting with rain-cloud and swallow,

Frozen, dumb?

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One Poem Only submissions are open.

This round, I’m looking for poems about what remains. What stays with us after we experience change? What survives? What do we yearn to carry forward? Send me the poem you wrote and want the world to hear. Also, if you’d like to read your own poem on the podcast, you can. Submit a clear audio file recorded in a quiet space—no perfect studio recording required. And yes, your poem can have been previously published in a literary magazine, a book, or on social media. Submissions close Thursday, October 29. I’ll respond by Wednesday, November 11. Whether I read your poem or you read it yourself, I’d love to hear what you have to share.

One Poem Only Submissions Form