My Mistress Spring

At last!

now thou hast come,

and thee, surely, hadn’t made haste?

And where hast, my lovely butterfly,

stayed Monsieur the bear?

Old man winter,

is rather a hearty sort of fella,

sure be the two of you weren’t afraid?

Now, comes my song bird.

And blooms again, the roses.

Such an allegory, spring.

Where have the home carved diamonds gone?

They used to shine so!

Gleaming in crisp Winter’s breath.

Alas! My popcorn bushes are gone!

All the riches of Earth to please,

swept away upon a rough breeze.

My pets, play me now a song.

A croon uttered from underneath your blue,

red, black, yellow, and white plume.

My friends,

I’ve waited too long!

Mistress Spring,

I hate to say,

is quite rather lazy!

She always keeps her children waiting.

But, whether she come early,

whether she come late.

Her calm, supple arrival.

Is greeted, loved, and reverend.

Just as Old Man Winter’s death,

is to say the least rejoiced. 

La pauvre..

Reviews

[ice]

Leave judgement of what is in or out of fashion to the poetry elite, the critics that demand that each poem they read is perfect in form and story..But all the modern critics use strong personal bias as a tool of judgement.
A poem like this may not make a passing grade with them..But I give you an A..which stands for (fine) A-rrangement, and a B..which stands for B-eautiful.

[DeevaMarx]

See now this was beautiful. I must confess I'm not the most intellectual of persons, I still find it hard to understand Shakespeare but I do love to try to understand the older way of writing. I did like this though, it made me want the crispness of spring again!