The Sorrow of Spring

poem

Photo by Rachel B. Baxter

The sorrow of Spring,
and the death it brings —

the calculating crush of uncertainty,
the chill in the wind
no golden ray can heat,
the tenuous mirage of brighter days,
the barometric pressure change.

The sorrow of Spring,
and the death it brings —
overzealous hellebore,
lonely in the quiet
of the garden cemetery,
fickle buds of cherry,
beautiful but momentary.

The sorrow of Spring,
and the death it brings —
a morning so cold it aches,
more choices, more mistakes,
every mournful verse from holy text
falls from skies and lips without rest,
each day of beastly March, a test.

Poems for all seasons: Mother Scorpion

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