A Spring Like None Other

There's no spring other

Than the present one vividly

Rushing back to life

There's no time for regrets

About things left undone

There are only seeds to be sown

And always more shoveling

And to make the most 

Of these daylight hours

You must extend yourself too

A little further every day 

That's what a growing      

Season is all about

*********

These days I don't write many poems. But there's an April exception. The older I get the more I love spring, so every once in a while, like an unfolding blossom, a new April poem bursts into view.

Mind you, age has taken its toll and now that I'm well into my sixties there's a noticeable difference in how I respond to spring's magic spell. A decade ago, when I first started writing poems, I felt swept up enough to write a poem every day for the month of April. (You can read those poems here, on the Lampoetry blog, in reverse chronological order.) Now I don’t have the stamina to sustain that sort of output, so this poem, short and sweet as it is, will have to suffice.

Marissa took this picture the other day, which I think sums up anything else I might have to say.