In my backyard, the blooming forsythia
Wakes Frost from his winter sleep.
I hear him again:
“Nature’s first green is gold. . .”
As always, he wakes unbidden.
Other years he has roused on country roads
As willows gleamed above green banks
His words emerged from me in the car.
“. . . Her hardest hue to hold. . .”
Always, my husband held the wheel in puzzled silence.
In the back seat, over the years, our sons began to roll their eyes.
Mom was saying “it” again.
“. . .Her early leaf’s a flower. . .”
The back seat now is empty.
Yes, Robert,
“Nothing gold can stay. . .”
I know.
However, you still wake in me each Spring.
I am grateful what woke you
This year was the forsythia
In my own backyard.
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