Morning Poem, April 7, 2017



This raw April day is like those at February’s end

Where grey gloom reigns and the wind will not relent.


Who will curse it and wish for sunlight’s lift

And who will seize and embrace it as very gift?


Who will walk once more on the paths now vacant

Of summer’s vine and weed and serpent


And breathe in and feel the sparkling frost

And give no thought at all to what is lost?



Copyright 2017

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