Spring Forecast
I heard them in the news today counting
Down the hours
That ignore in sterile rooms
The fresh outpouring of flowers
On the eyes, like songs
From trees laddling
Into pots of fragrant
Desire.
Do think that God must wait
Upon their measurement
Of time
Into old teacups and calendars
So small
A trout would lose
Its life in it?
When spring was at their gate
I already had her
In bed all night
A hundred hours ago
When you saw
The flowers
Brush aside the snow
And burst
Into the arms
Of old lovers.
Let there be
No weather forecast
For my love
But let it ever rush
Upon me
Like the surprise
Of morning
Water on the skin
Full with the pranks
Of spring.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2009
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