A Poem upon Finding Myself Yearning for Snow

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Come, Winter!

Come, Winter!
The world tires of its verdant hue.

Come, Clouds!
Come blot out the heat of the sun.

Come, Darkness!
Come tell daylight its time is done.

Come, Wind!
Come rip the dying leaves away.

Come, Rot!
Come hasten the last year’s decay.

Come, Snow!
Come bury the garden in white.

Come, Ice!
Come visit my windows tonight.

Come, Winter!
My heart has been waiting for you.

A Cruel and Gentle Month

Sugarbush 2013Oh, March. You fickle month. You bringer of sunshine and rain, then ice and snow. You can’t decide whether to reveal the toll the winter has taken on the earth or to cover it all back up again. The birds sing, the red-winged blackbirds and robins and turkey vultures have returned, the very first crocuses have bloomed and frozen. The sap and the rivers are running, but I am sitting inside with my coffee wondering just how much longer until I can get out in the gardens and start cleaning up your mess.

Here’s a poem about March I wrote in 2007 and have been modifying ever since. I think I may have it how I want it now.

March

Month of crows
Driven rain in slush-filled gutters

All the flotsam of winter’s rage—
Empty bags whipped in wheezing wind

Parking lot valleys in the shadows of
Mountains formed from filth and snow and abandoned shopping carts

The frail sun pretends to shine
A sudden squall and all is beaten down again

But then
quietly
pushing up
through mud
comes the green

Stretching
reaching
hoping
comes the green

The sun shines stronger
the days grow longer
and all my fondest hopes of spring
see fulfillment in one blossoming
flower