Waiting For Spring 1997

      Waiting For Spring

Will spring never come? It’s April and it’s snowing.

Snow is thick and growing, and my husband says,

“It’s only rain; a little white – but going.”

He’s just changed to summer tires. Wind is blowing.

Shame, if on his way to work his auto needed towing.

These are funny times, I think, with nothing to rely on.

Weather-wise, they really stink. The planet’s gone awry, on

Top of which the baddies are diverting steam

To search for groups to spy on.

Dear oh dear, while lying here

The snow continues piling:

Up and up and up. One could

Describe it as beguiling –

That despite the forecast.

It’s an occupation in itself, this waiting for the buds.

Proof will be: a game of golf and features about floods,

Flowers on the forest floor, fledglings for the cat,

Preferences for milky fare and victuals without fat;

Everything that comes with spring –

I’m waiting for all that.

Still, it’s April twenty-third; rising snow is right outside.

The wood stove’s full of birch and the golf clubs stand untried;

I had porridge as a snack. I needed something warm.

Spring, why are you holding back your lime-y green and floral charm?

©Waiting For Spring 97.4.23

Circling Round Nature; Our Times, Our Culture; Small Stories Book; Swedish Book;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

 

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