Why do I not walk into spring?
Do the forsythia and daffodils not speak to me?
Nor the warming sun, the bursting lilac
And the waiting garden under leaf?
Does the rose on my balcony
Who has braved the bitter winter
Not embolden me? Am I not surprised
To see the plant outside my window
Staging a comeback?
What was her name? Does it matter?
Am I not thrilled
To make her acquaintance again?
Do I not wish to celebrate
The hardy spirit of my little rose?
Surely I wouldn't resist
Listening to the periwinkles
Peeping under the garden floor
‘We’re coming back
More purple than ever before!’
Tell me I’m not sitting here
Worried over old dreads
While crocus are tuning their trumpets
And tulips, their trombones
Why, anyone can hear the rain-patter
Of little feet
Marching up from way down deep
I’d be half-dead to pay no heed
To open throats and all the rising
Notes of scent and sound that sing:
Walk into spring!
(cartoon by me)