When I can’t get off my butt, there’s nothing like a kick to do the trick.
I’m beginning to value pain. To reinforce that value I think of it as the whispering of angels calling me to pay attention. Of course, I could just as well think of it as a kick in the butt, but this is supposed to be a poem, and there is more to reality than meets the eye.
This is also supposed to be about spring, but all I hear about is winter. So. More snow? Or is it time for winter to get off its butt and go?
PAST WINTRY PAIN COMES SPRING-BOLD RAIN WE START AGAIN
Maple trees rest in the snow Covered with their fallen leaves. Winter’s wind will come and go, But maple trees stand in the snow. Their roots hold on. Let winter go And have its way. Though some may grieve, The maple trees wait in the snow Covered calmly by their leaves.