Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Glimpses of Spring

Gold clouds on cue
And thousands of tiny blossoms in the hedge
As we spread as one our never-to-be-understood
Selves across the ground

As if the pink it all soon becomes
Is a beginning, not an end.
It's a privilege of age to pretend
You've just been born;

Why not let the present be?
Is one cloud so much more unique
Than all the others
That I cannot let each moment go without a sigh?

It's something that we're missing
We feel we lost along the way
That disappears each second
To taunt us again,

As a moon like no one has ever seen
Emerges pink and white from behind a curtain
As if it is all we are feeling
And is far too kind to explain what we know.