At last, the fruit trees blossom here, and leaves
Appear again on trees. It's May, for Christ's sake.
Where was Spring? Delayed down south, inside
An airport, glancing every other minute at the time
And staring at its boarding pass? I know the drill.
I, too, flew north three days ago, but not on business.
I was coming home from paradise it seemed,
To yet more of the dreadful weather from which
I had flown away. With Spring now present
And at work, my views of here and where I was
Are altered. Home's become the paradise, the site
Of promise, and of pleasure, whereas where I'd
Gone down south grows humid, torrid, most
Unpleasant. Should fierce Summer dawdle there
Or find itself also delayed, I doubt that I'll be
Disappointed. Winter left. That's what I wanted.
I can live with Spring.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
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Written on 2022-05-06 at 23:23
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