Decay to April

Oh beauty

unbounded, letting

her hair down 

to flow as weeping willows,

the whipoorwills call

in the night

to the green leaves

on the breeze.

The river bank breeze's

penchant for misting

the grasses, soothing 

the ducks

on its glassy surface

in the dawn.

Some collected melancholy

in a painted scene 

of spring mornings

spent with nature, 

herself spilling across

the landscape,

a draft of vernal days

on her breath.

Silent still

of April in the reeds.

Tulips catapulting themselves

to be lustily kissed

by the sun.

As the tree leaves

grow greener

the days longer,

there is a lean languish

to the zephyr,

he sits in bridcall

on the hills

singing in mockery

of winter's death,

the decaying of

seasons.

The insomniac beauty 

of the vernal equinox.