Spring in New Hampshire
By Brenda Ann Eckels, aMGC (c) 2016

Spring
In the land of birch trees
Of little towns
Bearing rivers with
Tribal Names

Used to be
Glorious
Mid March the lamb
Chased away the snowy lion

April Rains
Happy fat warm drops
Coaxing the seeds
To bloom

May Sunshine
Reflecting off
Masses of daffodils
And more than enough
Wildflowers
For children’s bouquets
On Mother’s Day.

We fools
Ruined our paradise
Our Prophets ignored
We now pay the price

March and April
Merely extend
Bitter cold winter

And May Day
There is no pole
No gay ribbons
No laughing children

Only rain
Cold, sharp, mixed
With a slushy ice
Choking the Iris and Lilly
As they try to bring up shoots

Mother’s Day
Has only the hardiest
Wildflowers
Tiny white clumps
And yellow dandilions
For a bundled child
In boots and rain slicker
To pick.

Oh, woe to us!
Humans who thought
We could out run
Our constant
Expelling of noxious excrement
Forgetting
There is only
One Earth

Spring in New Hampshire
Had mud
We made into tourist attractions
Had no-see-ums
We sold souvenir swatters
Healing, Life-Giving Rain
We danced in
Bright, warm sunshine
For gardens to grow
And it was glorious

Now, we lament
What we have lost
On a May midday
Almost as dark as sunset
Shaking our heads sadly
As we mourn the death
That we caused.

The youngest ones
Unaware that
Once upon a time
There was more to life
Than snow, ice, rain
And precious few days of warm comfort
Before the burning time of summer
Drives them indoors again.

Spring in New Hampshire
Was glorious, us crones whisper
As sleepy heads fall asleep
To what they think is a fairy tale
Not noticing the single tear
On the elder’s shamed and guilty cheek.

#globalwarming #newhampshire

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