Lost Spring Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

I thought to be the springtime's first new groom
and I rose up as early crocus rise.
My collar was the white of fresh, last snow.
My tie was hued the blue of springtime's sky.
My bride still seemed as ice upon this date;
but name a spring that can't melt ice away.
The orioles and robins wore their best,
butterflies, all aflutter, would preside
and squirrels had stored their wishes for this day.
But then arose-I don't quite understand-
a storm that, quick as blizzard, took her far;
It swept away all hope: a final storm
All gone from our green valley evermore.

In the springtime, before the leaves are formed,
find the empty hills, the echo of our song-
On such days, hope for searing, summer months
to burn and blind the trace of all that was!