MEMORIES OF SPRING
MEMORIES OF SPRING
Spring is the time for hope, the poets write.
Now winter’s loosed its icy grip one more,
The crocuses creep boldly into sight,
With pretty tulips knocking on the door.
Those trees, denuded in October’s chill,
Soon will turn resolutely into green.
Fresh odes will flow from every poet’s quill,
Determined to do justice to the scene.
But I regret I hold the cynic’s view.
The period just fill me full of gloom.
Those tulips bring me only thoughts of you,
For I remember they were in full bloom
Just when you left the letter by the phone
Condemning me to springtime on my own.
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