I remember spring in the country;
grass swords of verdance, somehow meaningful
in their simplicity

the way
the world seemed to come together, be remade
and the way everything was beautiful
for that three-month-long moment
of newness

the whispers of life neverending
like a fragile hymn to change
upon the face of the waters;
an open book waiting to be written
another year born, another era framed in green

I remember those days
and even now, I miss them.