(for Ellen 4-21-2015)
Spring stopped today,
a muse has been returned to the realm.
One day we will follow, maybe on a tree-lined road,
to learn what our dear one learned today.
For now we can only listen
to the cold wind howling its grief
on what should be a warm spring day,
as mortal buds struggle, emerging
to be green and supple, to murmur gently,
or bend with the storm, to flash yellow and red,
then dance freely, earth-downed, brittle with beauty
restored as soil,
still filled with promise.