The Dream of Spring

Tired of snow, tired of cold wind and fuzzy pajamas

and tired of darkness.

Once the ice falls into your heart-

not even the hope of spring is enough

to thaw the numbness inside.

The sun and moon tell us that spring has sprung

but no one seems to have included mother nature in the loop.

A warm spring day- a picnic in the woods

and a good book would be the

perfect poultice for the frost bitten soul.

Pink flower, blue flowers, yellow, white,

purple and red flowers dance

in a sea of green to their own

music piped by the wind.

Beautiful in every sense and thought.

Baby animals and people full of love

flirting like the cheery sun

thru the dappled maple leaves.

Dreaming of the perfect spring day

and actually living it are universes apart.

All ideas fueled by the angry rain

and too much warm herbal tea

sustain me for now but all pleasure

seems empty without the warm glow

of the dream of spring.

Spring never used to seem so short or fleeting before.

With never a chance to savior-

only a tiny ghost of a taste

that excites the taste buds

but fails to deliver.

All I want is to dance

barefoot in the clover

and to write poetry

in a gazebo

drinking in the warm breeze.

All dreams must end- even the dream of spring.

Days get longer and hotter and the freshness of

the wind turns into a stale blast full of

bitter smells and musty sweat.

But even in the summer heat- the dream of spring survives.

Fall comes softly and quietly- sometimes it is even more

subtle than the dream of spring

but fall is slowly descending into the cold

darkness of winter- so no matter how beautiful fall may be-

it always possesses a tinge of death in it.

Of all the seasons- not one possesses as much

hope and wonder as spring.

Even though as the world changes because

of our world- as long as there is spring-

there will always be hope.

The End