Gazing past the winter
you can smell more than roses,
more than fresh-turned soil.
Search for glimpses
in Nature’s hideaways
of last year’s lost moments.
Leaves, unswept on your path,
a source of unfortunate worms
for Spring-hungry birds.
Sometimes we grow so much
that simple pleasures
escape our sophisticated minds.
This grave is for a wealthy man,
just look at the beautiful marble
hiding his destitution.
We each rise from our own Spring
hoping forth brightly
where joy waits in a far field.
It felt as if the middle of the year
Had come to spread its syrup sun about
The sorry fortunes of the winter days
Dissipated with the gathering warm
But callous Nature played us like some fools
Captured in an April Foolish trick
And brought us back to feeling sorely cold
With prospects of an April spiked with snow.