Even though winter still gnaws
at the edges of my world,
spring will not stop coming, coaxing
life from the seeds
I thoughtlessly planted,
not understanding how fragile
the sprouts’ little green necks
can be, stretching out skyward.
Some will never make it that far,
where even late frost can’t hurt them.
But spring is here
and for whatever it’s worth
so am I.
Song Choice: Carry On My Wayward Son covered by First to Eleven
Liner Notes for this Groove: This poem in linked to the Friday Writings prompt at Poets and Storytellers United.