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Most can’t compete with the frost
One may survive but the rest are lost
Back to the soil they retreat like moss
April’s silent pearly bells

Pedal hard against the breeze
Lazy wind expects to part the leaves
Against the stubborn pavement some still seized
Under the branch from which they fell

If we must bring our gloves to Spring, will the doves still sing?
And will May still bring a temperate eve whereby I might try to rekindle leaves into a roaring fire?
A roaring fire.

Ride out to see the marble Mary
Out to the Duomo like we did last February
Don’t complain you are so contrarious
It was colder then than now

On my knees I draft the embers
Come on now at least pretend to remember
We just camped here last September
Won’t you please unfurl your brow?

What went wrong since last Winter dear?
Only splinters here in our private clearing
Where we built our own fire last year
We were pioneers, urban orienteering
Orienteers.

If we must bring our gloves to Spring, will the doves still sing?
And will May still bring a temperate eve whereby I might try to rekindle leaves into a roaring fire?

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