EARLY SPRING AT LAST

Written by: Sidney Beck

EARLY SPRING  AT  LAST


Like a surly spoiled child giving up his toy ship,

The dirty snow grudgingly  gives ground,

Is forced  back and releases soiled  grip,

Revealing crocus ghost-shoots pale and round.



Air is mild like a woman’s soft breath

Feeding  life anew to the tree’s bare  skeleton 

Arms,  fresh-wrested from death:

And raising each hard green bud-scion. 



River free at last from immobility:

Giant ice-shards’  gaunt mute motion 
 
In the flowing waters of felicity,

Singing its joyful  way to the  ocean.