The old greats go on an on about
the beauty, the newness of springtime
with its baby birds and leaping streams–
things longed for by the long suffering
of winter’s cold skeletal hand. Rebirth!
Meanwhile my car is green with pollen,
eyes swelled to itchy slits and my mind
lingers over all those bugs hatching
beneath baby birds’ nest, hatching beneath waters
grown heavy with endless rains. Rebirth
is messy, weedy, sneezy. There’s mud everywhere,
but not enough insecticide in all the world.
Today’s prompt is from Word Light Show. Prompt#2 suggests writing of your favorite season, or your least favorite. O Were My Lilac Fair is borrowed from the title of a Robert Burns poem, circa 1793.