Bittercress and blue Veronicas bloom,
The promise of spring's desire.
I've been incubating, wrapped up in
Winter's womb, frozen
Yet still warmed by the fire.
This one was the worst.
The trees still bare,
Proudly naked despite Hades' curse.
I refuse to "move on,"
And I would never dare.
She's my Persephone and I'm Demeter,
So I asked the sirens, wail your song through
The ether and help me find her.
It's almost Easter.
The kids still young enough to hunt
But this doesn't last, just like
Spring herself and life's silly little stunt.
And though I weep for what was lost,
The wheel still turns the bloom,
The fall, the frost.