They tell me spring is coming with the birds
That flutter through the wind and gusty rain,
But past and future are no more than words,
And spring is just another name for pain.
They tell me life is burgeoning, the trees
Are slowly opening their crumpled hands,
To catch stray sunbeams drifting in the breeze,
Cascades of pied and dappled golden bands.
Go look, they say, the buds have burst ghost-white,
The meadow rings with trills of spring songs sung,
Beneath the hedge, the furred and feathered-bright,
Will fill the greening world with mewling young.
I tell you all is still beneath the sky,
The falling blossom melts away like snow,
Our times and moonlit tides with wild geese fly,
Beyond the hills, where all our daydreams go.