The coming of Spring
The Spring is here - the English Spring
whose coming heralds warmth and life in the world around.
Easter’s past and Whitsun is in the offing,
yet all is still and cold; the life that should abound
in April’s blowy days moves not:
the trees are black, silent shadows now,
as they have been since Autumn slew the lot -
that gusty warrior of the darkening days, who split e’en bough from bough,
until December’s icy bars his boisterous life did smite.
And now, ’though springtime, ’tis Winter still -
the darkest night of all creation,
of whom the awakening dawn has yet to kill
the last festering days of isolation.
When will the Sun appear? Oh, God in Heaven above,
how much more can you expect this solitary being on Earth to endure?
If there ever has been - or will be - such a thing as love,
please grant me now a little warmth - no more.