Precipitous

When will it go, when

Will it go?

Snow, sun, snow, rain,

Snow.

To be caught in the throws

Of a chilling variable,

Who wouldn’t be morose?

To clasp a peek at a spring beam

Is such a harsh blow.

I know, I know

That the formula shows

The drowned brown will

Turn green.

I have seen it myself,

A ceaseless witness of galactic law

Chiseled in stone.

But the glimpse of the glow,

Of newborn light was enough

To make me crow with delight.

I chased it in ignorance

Weekends ago

Only to end up on the wrong side,

The wrong shade of woe.

How feline, to pounce at

The islet of wood

In a sea of a dark drone.

To crave the warmth of

The source of my home.

Justifiably so. The past

Months have been wicked in ways

Not only precipitous.

I am sick of the gray and I groan.

-BENJAMIN SMITH