Wintry Thoughts In Spring Poem by Roy Ballard

The moment winter goes away
upon a long-awaited day
when every petal, leaf and tree
sings out ‘I'm living, look at me! '
in melancholy I'm immersed.
The blossoms fall, the best go first;
in recollection to remain
like nothing but a fading stain.

So starves the hermit in his cave
because the world is but a grave
and any beauty he can find
is some illusion of the mind.
Alas we tread our cloths of gold
in moments which we cannot hold;
we altogether cannot keep
the paradise at which we peep.

I think and therefore I should be
cognizant of the things I see
but truth I never could divine
beyond this strange conceit of mine
on every sentiment embossed:
this precious moment must be lost
and gone can never come again
so every pleasure turns to pain.