(Note: Poems beginning March 20, and some in April, 2019, deal with grief. Return to writings prior to March for poems of a different nature.)
Springtime overwhelms me with its cheer,
and, like my father, playfully teases
and tries to make me smile, with those breezes
in Wedgewood blue. But even though it’s here
I don’t feel spring—with tears fresh on a grave,
and the bitterness of winter-like grief,
and there’s still a cold wind on my cheek
from the hard truth of one we couldn’t save.
And then again, tomorrow, spring might win—
and make me smile at silly daffodils
and the chirp of a sparrow on the sill.
Is it fair to feel that light again?
Should I feel guilt, letting go of sorrow—
isn’t it unfair, I’ve got tomorrows?
