What of spring?

That it brings fire to the hearts of men

Is it the stars in the sky

Or

The songs of birds courting

Returning Persephone freshly in mourning

I've hidden alone in my cave

Far from spring time and still

I'm a fool for the lady's inuring

Slack from my chest

This marionette of heart strings

Played with in passing

No tuppence given for time or trouble

Worn out in that way only free things do

Salt of the earth this Patina entombs

A heart that was meant to be given to you

Yet this poem was meant for the spring time

It's true, she will miss it I'm sure

But you got it too