The Cold Cling of Spring

THE COLD CLING OF SPRING Pretty petals ferociously fall as Spring releases its fury. Blooming cherry blossoms in disarray, decry a disaster. Rosebuds refuse to unfurl like a flummoxed fist of stubbornness. Like moray eels, the moss morphs into a menacing hue, as blackened clouds crowd out the signs of light and life. The wind in winey whisper, wallows and whips up, into meringue swells. Pathological pines, with nesting nettles, fly through worried windows, and ornery oaks uncork an unholy battle for the braveheart to lose. Voracious ivy vines, unwind, wrap up a horrified house like a ghastly gift. Teeny tiny eyes in buried basements hearken to the howl of the harried storm. Sheltered shells of confusion, await the arrival of calm and catastrophe. Flash of a fresh new day, finds friends hugging, holding hands, waxing wings of action, surveying the skies, the smiling sun, the warmth of Winter’s waning and Spring’s taming. Yet the cold clings to the forest of ferns and forget-me-nots, fretting at mocking skies, mottled in chaotic cataclysmic chokehold like weary wrestlers. When will this season settle down? Dreary and drowning in snow and rain. Disdain on bushy brows. Parasols on parade in perpetual mourning frown. Still evergreen buds, buddy up to branches, and dot-to-dot blossoms appear amidst a washed out willow slowly sipping sanguine revelry. 3/27/2018 Silent One’s Alliteration Contest