I. Spring

I was always taught Spring was a soft season.

The pastels, the flowers, girls with ribbons in their hair.

But what about the plants that push through hard, frozen ground

And trees that wake up after Hell freezes over?

There is nothing soft about giving birth and raising young

Hoping they’ll see the sun the next day.

So take your pastels, Spring, wear them like war paint.

Take your flowery thorns, and remember ribbons can be used to choke.


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