adventures in dysthymia

Friday, March 04, 2011

Spring Comes

Spring comes when it will:
it cares not for the plans of we
who write down dates on paper.

'Now it's time for Spring,'
we say, and measure our short lives
against eternal heaven's

wheel of stars. But I
hear Spring, this fitful fading night
of Winter's end, and waken:

Spring comes when it will,
a bird song at the dawn,
a soft breeze from the South.

Stephen Brooke ©2011


Although it did not take a particularly long time to finish this little piece, the form did morph a couple times before settling down to this fairly strict bit of structure. Anyway, I do feel this way about the arrival of Spring -- it's not something we find on a calendar but something that comes when it comes.

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