Marching into April

The year is in its adolescence

It is trying its body on for size

But not yet used to its long legs

And sex and looks

Awkward when it walks and feels

Awkward when the full formed daffodils

Suggest a cheeky bit of summer before dinner

; –  )

 

There is hope, there is memory

But there is no knowing what will be

Beyond this time of promise, heavy with buds that

May or may not

 Bear fruit, depending on whether

Frost sweeps Autumn’s sweets or thunder

Brightens all souls to glinting parodies of Paradise

: –  )

Last bad SAD poem before Spring, I hope

 

I am done with this day

Put it back on the shelf

Or in my bag, that way

 

I can read it on the

Bus, if I change my mind

For one that wants to be

 

Reading something new.

Now is old, blank and clean,

That extra page preserved

 

For silent doodling, no-

One watching or listening

Now that ‘The End’ has passed.