Yes, it is time.
The clocks have sprung; the sun returns.
Now, spring, now.
Do not wait any longer.
Give us to the froth of the waves,
Delaying moonlight.
But what lingers?
The need for a cool, dark cave,
with earthen floor and flickering fire.
I fold my wings.
I know they are meant to fly,
but winter has ground my heart into powder
gold--useful,
but not for the normal purposes of the heart.
Spring, can you return the egg
before the fall?
