APRIL FROST

 

 

April Frost

This is not the time for frost,

When Winter’s hard-edged shadow

Should have passed beyond the sun

And, this side of the solstice,

Fragrant Spring should walk the land

While laughing blackbirds pierce the air

With pure and exuberant joy.

Instead, long spears of ice, with perfect aim,

Have stabbed them to the very soul.

In verges, daffodils hang down their heads

And, like me, long for life-affirming days

Of subtle sun and breeze-blown air

That will send me scurrying to the hills

With light and careless tread,

Happy as the towering lark

To be, at last, away from winter woes

And for the lifetime of a day

Feel again the freedom of the sky.

Last night, hares still danced in moonlight,

Cold-footed in the sparkling fields,

Unsure when, if ever, the true purpose

Of the tardy year would begin.

Now, shrill, complaining yellowhammers

Take up the disconcerting call

And the once-cheerful chaffinch

With only cold despondency creates

Its early morning song.