PRE-SPRING by WILLIAM BENJAMIN BREWER (1933-2012)

                              PRE-SPRING
                                     



     Now is the time of little hangy things
That come before the leaf.
Over there's a kite,
But now the hand must sting that holds it
In this month that's not yet spring.

     A certain stir there is for sure,
But waxy grass has yet to nuzzle through the thatch,
And trees are mostly grey or black,
Though many wear a veil
Of olive mostly, here and there of pink.

     Daffodils again have jumped the gun,
By last week's cold front now quite stunned,       
Down-facing, philosophic,
In their sudden loss of innocence...

     And only oaks,
Whose lower limbs still wear
Tattered tutus of last fall,
Only oaks resist to give a hint
Of their seduction by a sign of  renaissance:
Oak trees got to where they are by sternest cynicism,
Across the ages coexisting with that temptress spring.

     A man would better be like these,
But something deep biologic
Makes response to overtures perverse
Of life to be renewed among the greening hills.

A man, I think, in April is
Not so robust as he's daffodillic.
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Although Ben wrote more poems than I have posted, I chose this poem as the last;seems fitting since he died last spring.April 6 

   WBB 1956