Cherry blossoms fell yesterday,
and today, snow, falling through
the chill air from a bleak and
featureless sky, winter’s last
dying, bitter gasp.
Sunburns and grass clippings
yesterday, and today, the long
dark sleeves of February return,
and beards now shorn are missed
for their warmth, and rear window
defrosters called out of retirement,
and bare feet deferred once again.
Set high the sails, and let these
mocking seasons push us in
the direction of the wind, and
though today may not be the day,
still, let tomorrow bring the thaw,
and the light, and dry pavement,
and let umbrellas spend dry months
closeted and without requite, and
let this deep gray urn of winter
rest quiet upon the mantle.