The Spring Will Come
The spring will come, as always, full of hope,
With promise of new life and new beginnings—
The happy shit… It always does, you know,
In spite of all your black and tragic feelings.
The spring will wink at you amidst the death
And cut with sunshine through the darkest cloud.
It cannot raise the dead, but ask no less—
The spring will promise anything, no doubt.
And if it won’t work out as you asked,
Don’t blame her but the subsequent seasons.
To keep the promise isn’t vernal task—
The spring is here for all the other reasons.
So just wink back at her, and trudge along,
And drink the air—through the mask, if needed.
The spring has come, but she won’t stay for long…
But then one day she will return, unheeded.
Editor’s Note: Iambic pentameter leads the reader through this poem with delightful ease, while the message circles from the beginning and then back again.
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