The bitter and the sweet

The bitter and the sweet

There is no language with the words
to embellish this spring gown

no ship that skims the water
with a swan’s unconscious grace

no music machine to rival
the lark ascending into summer blue.

Grief is grey as ash
the same pall for all those
with tongues to cry

and when the gale howls
even the rose bows its head
and lets its petals fall.