The Sorrowful Season



The saying is
that spring has sprung
I say it sunk

Sunk in dismal days
and starless nights
and mud

March winds
blew in more than showers

April’s rains
torrential floods

Proverbial blooms of May
caught in late freezes

Encapsulated in ice
as ants in amber

A spring sunk in despair
and mired memory

The sun below the horizon
dims
and goes out

Or is it I alone
that sunk too deep
one wet spring day?

 ©2019 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved

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