Song

One retrogressive April
within the biting breeze
I felt the tooth of winter.
I saw the tulips freeze
before their buds unfolded.
I saw the apple trees
retract their pink pronouncements,
while, skirting melodies,
the shivering finches stuttered.
Potentialities
are prone to unexpected frosts,
and so I learned from these
to uproot from my heart a few
blighted felicities.

Marion H. Flanigan