Upon a renewed earth
	Humanity wakes
	From winter's chilling sleep.
	'Mid showers
	Of cherry blossoms
	Delicate,
	And fountains of forsythia,
	We stretch and yawn,
	Langorous
	In the vernal sun.
	But though our hopes
	Once more escalate,
	'Tis with the realization
	That they are bounded still
	By winter's chill
	And summer's oppressive heat.
	Where is the love
	Which soothes like April rain?
	Where the joy
	Of jonquils bursting open,
	To speak splendidly of spring?
	There is a hand
	I would hold,
	A hand
	Which is the symbol
	Of the Spring
	I love.
	But in my heart
	Lies a fist,
	Clenched in selfish anger,
	Lashing out
	With blind frustration,
	Because Spring is Love,
	And I am emptiness.

3/29/77

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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