Dear Spring, Do We Need to Talk? (Poem)

Spring approaches

timid and slow

as if she doesn’t know

if we want her here.

“Spring, it’s us, Nova Scotia.

Come on,

we do this every year.”

She arrives late with rain in her hair

and mud on her hands.

She leaves the door ajar

and snow keeps blowing in.

You’ve asked her before to stop doing this.

She doesn’t stay long

says work is really busy

She’s got to wake up all the bears and blossoms

from their sleep.

 

She rushes out,

“Summer is coming over anyway.

You love summer”,  she says.

You write poems about me,

but all your songs are about Summer.

We’d write more songs about you

if you acted like

you wanted to be here.

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