Where is Spring?
These barren, bony branches
pluck the sun
from my sky.

I mocked depression--
now
it mocks me:
endless gray skies
pour rain,
rain,
rain.

Go ahead, rain!
Tear the blossoms
from the trees,
bury their color
in the mud,
wash them
away,
away,
away.

I don't care anymore--
My eyes are turning gray.