Spring Lament

The season has sounded its call to the farm’s sleepy ears,
The snow has flooded the ditches and gone from the land,
The meadowlark lifts from a fence post her bubble of song,
And here at the edge of the field I am with my plow.

The wind is a bastard for chill and whips at my eyes
Till tears wink out like tears I have honored and saved
To weep at my leisure over the losses I bear,
I see the sun pale on the stubble and think of past years.

The sun is the same, the birds and the weight of my plow,
The strength of my arms is the same and the skill of my hands,
But you are not here, my friends who will not return.
The sigh in my breath is tuned by the grey bell of time.

As winds tear the blossom my heart is torn by these thoughts.
The field to be plowed can wait while I bleed from my wounds.
I came here to open a furrow but deaf to spring’s music
I listen for voices though no ear will hear them again.

Let me cradle my sorrow a moment before I begin,
And remember with grief the faces I will not forget,
And cherish the thought I can keep them till death buckles me,
And I strong as the great colt yet though broke to the plow.