Spring in Late December

 

How now,can you hear listen, listen

Little steps as if on glass, turning on heads

En masse then grasp at the first ray of light

that comes into your thought

 

Rigorous trills of wrong beginnings

Running on the rumour of the sun

Fractured colourings, captured sounds

are found at the edge of a dream or in the forest

 

All are meant to be in hibernation

But someone has altered nature's mind

Like staccato violins in middle of fluted andantes

What hymns birds sing of summer instead of December?

 

Feathers first flown, between the wings

The wind whisks upwards,as if kissed by bliss

But had they known this journey was meant for March?

 

And now these gulls, all sunken and no song

Will arrive in the West but only to die

Who beckoned them thus to fly so wrong

It was nature's plan, this flight was meant for Spring

 

Chords once together now playing contrary

White web of mystique, some mistake

Yet bleak, may explain these strange happenings

 

Animals and nymphs dancing in the snow

 do they not know?

That the frost can hurt even the ones

Who are not afraid

 

And all have awoken to this false beginning

Like a lease of life in a dying Eden

turns between sleep and wake are untimely spoken

Why is there spring scutterings in late December