Is it not yet spring
Why doesn’t the sparrow sing
And call to troop the colours to bear
At last, from a long pall of solitude
To all that is now his love
Whilst the crop leaves for market
Surely bound — a bumper harvest
If indeed it were spring
If love were in the air, then it is spring
It has been said such times are spring
Spring doesn’t desert us
Who has heard that
Nor leave us in contempt of that darkened gloom — winter’s spawn
All is forgiven
And so surely it must be
For, would we not risk solitude and darkness
For just one more spring
Greeted by that sparrow; perhaps wren
The frangipani’s fragrance
Would we not be haunted if not for spring
Even its false promise, its hope and dreams
Freedom for another season
To pursue the highest causes
These things are owed to spring
Does not the despot in his darkness fear her light
Run to riot under cover of the night
No colour emboldens his plight
Just darkness not yet dissolved
By the freedom and the heirs of spring
