F.lush

First flush of Spring
//// green
blooms in the arms of the trees
en masse, a cloud of
//// minty fresh
/////////////// newness

Life wakes one more
////////////////// time.

c. Kate Gough

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Shroud *i.

*i.

The leaves’ backs are bowed
under the weight of an orphan
snow. Steadily, steadily,
a forlorn blanket hides the
bright greens and muted grays of
an accosted April night,
blustering acidly about the day’s
clean yellow tulips and
gracing sun-kissed surfaces with
abrasive white garments.

Appalled at the decay of Spring’s
burgeoning beauty, I see
Snow caressing tree-trunks : seductive,
consuming, unwilling to be
abandoned. forgotten. left
alone.

Her death-shroud touch darkens my sight
with the achingly slow weight of Sorrow, a stone
growing heavy in my heart: the passing of
Promise.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough
May 23, 2005 / edit i: 7/19/05 / edit ii: 2/28/06/ edit iii: 2/27/11/ edit iv: 12/10/11
Shroud, Part One