Barren Spring

There will come snow, cold burning from the sky
Wasting green fruit on the apricot tree,
And grey wind, plaintive as a sea gull’s cry

With quicksilver ice, sharp as glass, and sly
To sneak my greenling fruit away from me.
There will come snow, cold burning from the sky.

The thin-shelled eggs shatter; break where they lie,
Setting cormorant, tern, and kestrel free
In grey wind, plaintive as a sea gull’s cry.

There will be rains, but I will still be dry,
With melting torrents washing over me,
Wrapped in snow, cold burning from the sky.

No fruit to swell, no fledgling wings to try,
While summer hums an empty melody
To grey wind, plaintive as a sea gull’s cry;

The haunting ache within a brittle sigh
Echoing through my green sterility;
There will come snow, cold burning from the sky
And grey wind, plaintive as a sea gull’s cry.

© Caroline

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