It would not surprise me if trees let no leaves,
if the grass would stay brown and we saw no new geese.
If no wildflowers bloomed I'd give no second thought;
I wouldn't half mind if spring completely forgot.
If I sat all summer alone in my room,
my face turned from the window into tear-filled gloom
and waited for winter to cover my days,
would the pain of remembrance be drifted away?
These signs of new life are like slap in the face,
the tip of a crocus, new kittens at play,
when one I remember will no more return.
Unfillable promise in unfurling fern.
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