Winter Was a Friend All Too Kindred

If I have sent for Spring by an ill-advised and troubling letter

(without a second thought, forgetting Winter was a friend all too kindred)

that wanted all the less dreary flowers
and warbled cries of little birds filching seeds,

and sprouting trees pushing life
into the air from air reformulated,

and all the fecund amorousness,
purging death's constant sheering reminders

that Winter was sure to lay at the fore of my mind
in its shuddering gray damp cloakings -

Well, now I apologize with gusto, for I forgot one thing,
and must regret my ever damned haste in posting:

That with you, O Mothering Earth, who reigns
with all your splendorous deeply renewing passions,
I am reminded how pale cold my heart remains
there outside the reach of your embraces.

Featured image: ‘Springtime in Provenance,’ by William Samuel Horton

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Poetical Fragments