One More April Poem by Frank Avon

Sometimes what winter kills
in the spring cannot live.
This year forsythia -
the tallest stems,
the longest branches
are bare and stiff
leafless unblossoming.

The rugged little pansies
clung to life
through ice and snow -
would not let go.

All the trees
now have their leaves,
the willow first, insistent,
the cherries abloom,
the Japanese maple
proclaims its identity
in its dark crimson,
the tulip poplars,
the lone maple, the birch,
the broad-leafed sycamore.

Most of the shrubs
are holding on:
the wisteria flings
out its tendrils,
the burning bushes,
pygmies, stunted
in their growth,
persist in pink,
oh, and of the three
little elderberries,
one survived
transplanting
and struggles bravely
(I'm sure it's so)
to maintain its beauty,
fragile though its branches
still may be,
to reach the sun,
the butterfly bushes
defy pruning -
they demand to be higher
than fence or wall.

In spite of my languor,
the crocus, the jonquil
demanded my attention,
tulips put forth
their cups of color,
and the new iris bed
is outdoing the old.

So much to do,
so much to be done.
And I - I must stand aside.

So much to be done,
and I - I can only
stand alone, apart.

Poems must be my eyes.
I stroll through
Emily's garden,
the stubborn foliage,
the dapper blooms,
luxuriant
in their
simplicity.

I can read,
with these eyes,
I still can read.
With this breath
(erratic though it be)
I can breathe in
their odors,
their freshness.
Still I can scatter
seed, plant bulbs,
and hope they
will spring forth.

Rugged little pansies
cling to life,
the muscles of my mind
(weakened, forgetful,
but persistent)
pinch back weeds,
stir the soil,
clip overgrowth
and trim stalks
after their blooms
have faded
and dropped away.

Poems must be my eyes.
I can read.
So much to do,
so much to be done.
And I must stand aside.
But as long as
these muscles of the mind
flex themselves -
rugged little pansies -
cling to life,

I shall stand unbowed,
I shall spring alive.
In these lines
these lines,
I shall stand erect.
I shall breathe
the air of spring,

I shall.
Sometimes what winter kills
in the spring still will live.

Today