When Spring Comes Early

“What have you to do with us?!?!”, asked the Legions of the Master,

Frantically.

Strikingly, their darker meaning like children doing mischief, “What are you

Doing here?!?! You’re early!

It is not The Hour.

No bud has yet sprung, and the earth is still

Ours. Our game of death is not yet over!”

Oh, when spring comes early!  Like Great News,

An early spring reminds even the addled that

Though winter…Death… still has its grip

On things, spring still arrives

At its hour, death’s game ends, and new life

Springs forth from beneath the blankets of hoarfrost. The victory trumpet

Of the Sandhill Crane high over head reminds us all

That neither we nor death decide

Spring’s arrival. And no matter

How long or short

The winter, no matter

How terrible its bitter grip, there is always spring.

There is always spring. Early

Sometimes, as if to say, “The tomb has always been

Empty. The field has never been

Yours.”