is winter so dreadful
that I should expire
the spring in bloom
for my fear of its
perpetual decay?
letting snows fall
in Autumn’s glory
dampen the sounds
of light hearted chatter
where truest confessions
fall to close to that
which had rotted away.
Was it so many years
that sleep had reigned;
or did the dreams begin
again?
If the tulip will bloom
from that bulb in the fall
what authority have I
to deny the new life
born not from my hands;
but from the soft breezes
of the butterflies’ wings
in need of the spring bloom.
Let winter come
when he will,
and I will dance
under Spring’s canopy
until he does.