Til Spring

They met in winter. Snow and ice
Had blanketed the world in white;
She loved him for his quiet way,
He loved that she was strong, and bright.
They walked on windy frigid streets,
And shivered through the bite and sting,
“But soon we’ll walk in fields of green –
Just wait til spring,
Just wait til spring.”

Then April with a blast of sun,
Turned verdant all that once seemed gone,
He with a kite, and her with flow’rs
Ran out upon the lush green lawn.
“Let’s do this every year,” he said.
“Except, next year, we’ll wear a ring –”
“Oh yes! But they’ll be time for that.
Wait til next spring,
Wait til next spring.”

Now sixty springs have come and past,
And she’s out here again today;
The love he said would always last,
Died of a fever, far away.
He wrote her til his dying day,
“You are my love, my everything.”
“Oh, love. I’ll see you soon,” she says.
“Just wait til spring.
Just wait til spring.”

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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