Winter drags

Bare branches sharp against

The limitless deep gray that would be sky

Feathery flakes drift now almost April

And we sigh clad for the cold grown old

Another deep gray afternoon

Becomes an even more gray twilight

We know in our bones

Spring's delay

Means late blossoms, blooms and buds

So we sigh

Knowing that even the rains' muds

We'd greet with the cry

Of kids in rubber boots

Stomping puddles into droplets

That hang in the air

Our Mother cannot renew

That whose death has come due

And we sigh

Though as we know in our bones

We know in our souls

Our Mother dies in pieces

A sacrifice to our emptiness.

Photo source: kylepost on Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

Originally posted to StewartAcuff on Wed Apr 02, 2014 at 06:52 AM PDT.

Also republished by Rebel Songwriters.

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