Bless your little heart,
Prompt like a Swiss train,
Spring’s purpled harbinger
Warmed by a low sun.

Tender verdant shoots
Struggle, emerge
Mid-wifed, from thawing dirt
By Mother Earth’s embrace.

Fool! Naif!
Trading in the wrong currency
Of what use, beauty and
Innocence,
When
Your regal crown lies
Broken,
Snapped at its neck
Under burden of
Foreseeable April snow . . .

Which, you’d be glad to know,
Melted
Sustenance for other revenant,
Late arriving perennials,
Mother Nature
Since moved on,
Helpful in her own way,
But never sentimental