We are part of The Trust Project.
Grey shroud of winter, go away!
By the calendar, Spring has come
but still you linger, chilling us
and dim the distant sun.
.
Your springtime rains bring no delight;
they coldly fall in gusting winds
and cause us yet to bundle tight
in gear we would have put away
if you had kindly quit your stay
and disappeared from sight.
.
But here you are, even today
as maypoles rise with colors gay.
I joined with friends to greet the Spring.
Our drums rang out, and children danced,
but you were there to mock the scene;
monster, have you no romance?
Wayne Farmer is a retired software engineer who is now writing poetry and playing the djembe. The Post Bulletin publishes poetry by local and area writers every Tuesday. Send poems to life@postbulletin.com with the subject line "Poetry submission."
