Sun shines on the tan-clay of the earth

Cracks of roadblocks criss-cross the reeds

Growing between stripped intersections 

The leaves of bright green have faded and fallen to near

Transperancy after making their purposeful descent to the dusty, dry soil

The limbs of the trees are like the knarled, hoary fingers of a peddler woman

Loosely garbed in a gasping, grey shawl lighter than the pollen of a dandelion

The sap of the trees have died within their musky arteries 

The innocent flowers have also desisted from rollicking in the arms

Of affectionate friends such as the meadowlark, the humming bird, and the bluejay

Everything, however, will lift its face to welcome the banner of spring and its 

Unaltered, unscathed, unbreakable trust funds of 

Dew-bedecked sunrises, spiderwebs glistening in a goblet of yellow serum

And the eternal calls of young birds who are cheeping, crying, dying, and living

Still underneath the porchlight or crooked windowsill