Splendid Stars

The splendid stars, the fragrant trees
That cense the atmosphere, make some folks wheeze,
And others sneeze . . .
Spring fever affects us in various ways,
It can cripple a workforce for several days
With torments of antipathetic suffusion,
While the rest of us revel in the illusion
Of cyclical rebirth ever on end,
Our youth recaptured, old wounds on the mend,
A span of continuous strainings and heavings
Spent idly pursuing our daydreamy weavings.
For a week or two, we're convinced, we're ecstatic,
Overcome with nostalgia and visions dramatic,
But that grove of magnolias knows better, I fear:
One sickens and dies nearly every year.