The First Warmth of Spring

Oh, deep, the silence of the night,
And clear the distant stars.
The silhouettes of evergreens,
The soft red pulse of Mars,
The warming breeze of early Spring,
The wild moon’s craggy scars.
And I am trapped in hopeless dreams
Beneath the distant stars.

Still, the hush of drowsy trees
And still, the un-mown hay;
The little whispers of the night,
That hide in garish day,
Spill forth like secrets kept too long
And giggle as they play.
Alone I linger in the dark,
My thoughts in disarray.

Yet, soft’s the breeze that stirs the trees,
The curtains on the sill,
And stirs the heart inside of me,
Though darkness holds me still.
I smell the spring, just out of sight,
The bobbing daffodil
The crocuses and tulip blooms
Across the mossy hill

And though I linger in the night
I sense the coming dawn
So I will stand up in the dark
And simply carry on.