Darken Spring

The thaw arrives, a morbid, weeping sigh, Unfurling from the earth a sodden shroud. No joyful trumpets pierce the leaden sky, But whispers of decay, distinctly loud. The tender shoots, they push with pallid might, Through mulch of memories, a bitter loam. They strain towards a weak and jaundiced light, As if disturbed within a shadowed home. The buds, like tumors on a skeletal tree, Unclench their fists with hesitant release. No vibrant hues for the discerning eye to see, But sickly greens that promise no true peace. The robin's song, a hollow, mournful plea, A lament for the winter's frozen sleep. He pecks at worms, a grim necessity, While shadows lengthen, secrets buried deep. The rain descends, a cold and cleansing tear, Washing the grime of winter's hold away. But underneath, a deeper dread is here, A fragile beauty destined to decay. The air is thick with scents of waking death, Of dampness clinging to the silent ground. Each fragile bloom, a temporary breath, Before the darkness claims what it has found. So let the spring its somber banner wave, A fleeting glimpse of life in somber guise. For even in rebirth, the open grave Awaits beneath the season's tear-stained skies.