A Spring Rain With Winter Wishes

A torment of rain and wasted opportunities washes over
Watering the seeds of regret 

They grow, like anything given sufficient sustenance,
and bloom into marvelous patches
that cover and choke the whole field 

The only places that are free of this constant reminder are the beaten paths
along which the creatures of habit and the beasts of burden tread.

They are driven by hands that cannot hear
the voices of the empty adornments
and so go about their regular route
Never deviating
Never adventuring
But always wondering about the unknown and untold marvels
that lay in the far-seeming and mystical lands
that are almost visible when they dream 

No bird could fly high enough
No fish could swim fast enough
But the echoes still travel
whispering of winter