Spring is the shy thing—
a new blade of grass
peeking its face out
from under the thatch,
to see what the sun brings,
to listen to birds sing …
timid, and wondering
if winter’s passed.
Spring is to green
what grass is to spring,
and the burst of ozone
during a rain,
when trees are dressing,
and flowers unearthing,
and nature is birthing,
slow and serene.
Spring is a wager
on winter’s decline—
the roulette wheel
that points to the sign
that dark is receding,
and nature is breathing.
The stake we are gambling
is rebirth of mind.
