Today's prompt is to write a seasonal poem, using all of the senses in description and including a line that is a question.
To try and stay away from the cliched seasonal descriptions, I've chosen to go for a poem with a darker underside, and one that resonates with my experience of spring this year.
Spring
People don't die in spring, do they?
When the sun returns in apricot tunes
and the twitter of birdsong stirs
the youth in us all, the hope of tomorrow.
People don't die in spring, do they?
When the new green on trees
is a kind of belief, a resounding 'yes',
daffodils the beacons of brighter days.
People don't die in spring, do they?
When the pink flush of cherry blossoms
warm the air, a blush of love, sweetness
of sugar after the diet of winter.
People don't die in spring, do they?
When the sky is a buoyant blue
and mornings peal out praises
and everything is just beginning again.
People don't die in spring, do they?
When souls seem invincible, safe
from winter's danger, the world a promise
come true, a feast, ripe for the picking.
People do die in spring, though. Despite
the new leaves and teeming greens,
sun, sky and infinite dreams -
people die. Regardless of the season.
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