the swift demise of spring

“Old April wanes, and her last dewy morn / Her death-bed steeps in tears; to hail the May /
New blooming blossoms ‘neath the sun are born / And all poor April’s charms are swept away.” – John Clare

twenty-three
short days have slipt fast by
i’ve watched their sunsets die
impaled on sea’s horizon line
spring days interred supine
jubilee?
yet seven more deaths to mourn
till april, fully worn,
casts off her crown in deference
to may month’s present tense
bourgeoisie

does not spring status quo define
odessa’s faith rules by design

© Copyright 2020 April 23
by Clyve A. Bowen♫