march twentieth

And then a warm day in March

(this twentieth day of March),

decides to tap her gentle fingers playfully to my shoulder.

She teases me that she will once again spin into

a piece of my fragile fateful future.

I wonder

If she will ever know that all is not always new,

That all is not fresh,

that all is not green.

She betrays the day before her,

now non- existent;

Cold yesterdays cannot casually be swept away as a kite

with her first whisper…

She taunts me with memories of windswept hearts,

classical music, pastels, cold rains, and swaying forsythia.

Her mystery becomes trumped by empty plates and missing chairs,

as laughter echoes on glances that are absent this year.

Her swirling stance stiffens

and her comfort all too brief,

As she blows her promise of tomorrow

across my aging face once again.

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3 Comments

Filed under Poetry

3 responses to “march twentieth

  1. christine

    Beautiful Ed. Spring is in the air here today too.

  2. I don’t think spring realises that she leaves us, she just ages gracefully into the heat of summer and by the time fall arrives, she has forgotten who she is.

    Missed you. Hope you post more! You are one of the blogs that inspired me to blog myself, after all!

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