I wrote this poem a few weeks ago, as Winter took over again after a late winter Buffalo heatwave. It may need some working through, but I'll let it go out into the world as-is.
The buds of the magnolia have browned
Like a half-charged memory growing ill
And withered in the new light.
Extinguished by the faceted brilliance
Of Sir Frost’s shocking freeze.
The sonorous footfalls of his size 12 boots
Echo long beyond any welcome.
This mere shadow of a bloom heals me
With its smothered vow of surety
And the soft cry of hope within
Its withering frame.
As the brown petals meet the ground
My own arms unfurl to greet
Master Spring as He Leaps Forward
In grassy slippers as delicate as breath.