Sonnet For Spring

Spring marches its way south, inundating the winter steeled earth struggling to drink the season’s flood. So I bide time, waiting for thirsty trees to flourish red and pink. Yet when the heavens seal their divine doors and the portal outdoors reopens wide the red-pink promises of spring are floors of brownish, brackish sludge when rain subsides The birds are singing, or are they crying? The mud is clinging to every footfall Grasping with desperation, decrying walks in the woods, holding me in its thrall So I yield to the season’s iron will and listen to the songbird’s somber trill