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.”