© by Christine O’Brien
Spring’s beauty mocks a world at war. Who said
the spirit which enters and leaves this form
is pure? When spirt and form do wed,
the body knows no haven from the storm.
Flowers have dirty feet; petal discards
like fallen angel skins, garden compost.
Flower sprites leap into neighboring yards
searching for the soggy seed, their next host.
This spring season who shall pollinate me?
Which bee will hover round my glowing crown?
What distance do I hold this person, he,
so in his shining aura I don’t drown?
While wars wage and flower sprites do dare leap
we’ll mock duality, hold hands, dive deep.
Spring and war don’t jive. The new life forcing its way into being after a cold and snowy winter of retreat and respite. Within and without there are forces shouting about the wonders of being. What are spring’s messages to you? Write them down in your journal–transform them into a poem if you choose.