Nothing taunts like an April morning.
They are fickle,
promising mildness
which turns to bluster
by the time shadows curl up
at your feet.
It does not pay
to be in too much of a hurry
in April.
A bold sprout may thrust
through resistant earth
in March.
Perhaps it shall thrive.
Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
Shall the evening find it
yellowed and
indistinguishable
among the withered remains of fall?
Though even in decay,
there may yet be life.
A stalwart mother
using all the strength of eight legs
took care
to hide her treasure
when she and the daylight
were dying.
So that her brood might
emerge during one of April’s benevolent moods
and have time to hide from each other
in October’s desiccated leavings,
before they devour each other
in the frenzy of birth.
The Hunger by Shelle Kennedy.
Visit her blog, Sunshine Shelle, for more wonderful art work!
Song Choice: Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve
This poem was inspired by the Prompt Given by Magaly Guerrero, Dark Poetry for the Cruelest Month 2016: Has It Begun to Sprout?
