Even Spring Will Miss You Poem by cahen thrips

I wish you could see with me
this slow greening of the fields;
the push upwards of daffodils
through thawing crackled gravel.
A westerly breeze shakes catkins on the hazel,
your fig tree is growing small branches
tipped by soft buds
and where last week was nothing but mud,
seedlings now blink against the early light
while robins begin to fight to be the first
with the seed.

Here is spring - I can feel it on my face
as if a first caress from quivering fingertips
as light as Brussels lace,
or a glancing kiss from your chaste lips.

This will be the first spring with your not being,
so how will the apple tree be able to bear fruit,
or the vining hop climb the taut strung netting?
Who will teach birds to let their fledglings fly:
who will shelter tadpoles from predating newts?

Surely all of nature can't get by without you
on its side - and though the fields are slowly
greening who will keep this planet spinning
if you're no longer at my side?

February 2023