Spring is a Thief

A non-rhyming poem about an early Spring and personnel reflection in a complaint form.

Spring rolled in early this year,

like a painter rolls

the first coat of primer

before the final coat is applied.

Again, meaningful precipitation

neglected us in our need.

Like a past lover strolling by,

glances, slyly smiles,

but does not stop to acknowledge

that you have needs to answer.

Those gray billowing pillows

once called rain clouds.

Also known as thunder-boomers

by those that receive the light-shows

and heavy metal concerts,

along with the rain, sleet, and hail.

Still,

those that feel the cool

touch of snow-flakes on their noses.

Those that see rivers swell and lakes rise.

Those drifting masses that deliver

the gift of a deeper, richer, sleep.

Sleep that comes with sounds

of rain-drops filtering into dreams.

Sheets of rain on roofs of tin.

Window panes turning sounds

into melodies of yesterday.

Conjuring visions of the past

and memories too crisp to handle.

I'm afraid that Spring has stolen

some part of our winter blessings

and in doing so it has

introduced itself early this year.

Thus, it has helped to push

those boisterous clouds high into the sky,

leaving no meaningful bounty of wetness

upon the dry, neglected, weed-loving, earth.

As a side note,

and as a mildly stated complaint,

“My dreams received no ample share

of tunes played upon my window pane,

nor were those needed visions

brought by way of rain on tin.”

Near all was lost, save the wind,

pushing clouds across the darkened sky,

and fallen leaves in backyard circles.

Too high, all those clouds,

way too high for them to rain

on my window pain.

JE Falcon

03-2015

rew. 03-23-2022

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

Very descriptive of spring arrival. You fill your pages with side notes. Your final coat is applied. Looks beautiful.

[JE Falcon]

A happy thank you.

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome muchly...........