Early March.
Winter’s last blast
Tries to deny
The spring
Early March.
Winter’s last blast
Tries to deny
The spring
These autumn leaves
Remind me
Of my mortality.
Winter’s knife
Chops down life.
And trees
In spring bring
Forth leaves
And I recall
We all
Are of earth
And turf.
On a quiet Sunday
In Spring
I heard the clock’s
Tick tock.
It said, “this day
Of spring
Is full of sunshine.
Girls without socks
Play. But sunshine
Does not stay.
And all rhyme
Has it’s time”.
This little March snow
Soon must go.
And spring birds sing
Over tombs.
Flowers in springtime
Bring to mind
A former springtime.
But I find
That my November,
And oncoming December
Haunt my mind.
In flowering May
We little think
On Autumn grey
But our spring
Does not stay.
A young woman’s perfume
On a spring afternoon.
We guys vie, try
To impress.
Our grey
On her spring day.
A cold day in May.
Where has the spring gone?
Yet, the flowers live on.
In mid April
The birds sing
And start
A rill
Of hope in my heart.
Surely this Covid thing
Will pass?
But, for now lad
And lass
Are glad
That birds still sing
In spring.
Sometimes I would
That the bud
Could stay
That way.
In spring
Birds sing
And buds, for an hour,
Flower.