Spring Upon Me Poem by Eric Rhodes

You have come to me so late
I have nearly died inside,
withered under the weight of evening frost.

It's only instinct that forces a bud
to open here or there,
no sap left in these veins,
only aches and pains
flow in me now.

Perhaps, if you whisper warmth
upon my breast,
I'll gather the will to lift my face
to your loquacious lips,
to turn my ear to the wind,
finally hear what you have to say.

Spring upon me, make the leap,
for I am too rooted in this chalky world
standing still against the precession.

Still, I may flower, however unwilling I may seem,
in the stale air of this moment.
Come, whisper away these cobwebs
and leave my memories stained
from your lips.

- Eric Rhodes