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March Moods

It could not be more grey if it tried,
rain seeps and smears at the windows
while a lonely gull stamps its feet
drumming up from verdant lawns
to tempt the tasty worms
that feed upon the grim and grief
of this most miserly a season.

Each sway and creak as empty branches
reach far out, they talk, communicate
in sound and root, the wind whips
whistles in around, above, below
as lowly leaf catches up in drains,
veins turning to dust
catching what warmth winter spews,
oh such life enchewed
by this, a desolate time.

Oh March, it howls in my heart,
the murdered of snow drops
as sudden frost kills the most
hopeful of plants and the
camelia rots, full heads falling
a strewn path of funeral flowers,
to be swept and given to a compost.
A walk to a coast,
where staring out to other shores
will watch the rain clouds
gathering and clasping in their shawls.

Oh to sooth the burn inside
and melt the tears of ice
frozen rough hewn cheeks
of hastily wiped solitude.
Too much time to stop and ruminate,
regret and rue are flowers
that reflect this sombre mood.
Don't cut and train the branches
let the knarled fingers
curl and beckon on those summer
dreams and winter is just a memory.

Poetry by Elle