Feathered Spring

It comes every year, and here's spring
again, bringing with it my
usual promises to change my ways. I forget
them after a few weeks, thoughts flighty as a bird,
resolutions washed away sooner or later by the rain.
I've got to try harder, that much is clear.

It's coming soon-- the signs are clear--
the warmth, the longer daylight, birdsong, spring.
Once all the snow is melted by the rain
I'll open boxes and reveal my
brighter plumage, dresses gaudy as tropical birds,
shed my winter layers and try to forget

the length of this freezing winter. I've forgotten
what it's like to enjoy a day that's beautiful and clear,
but according to the scolding sound of robins,
soon I can revel in the mild temperatures of spring.
I'll take whatever improvement I can get-- my
boots and umbrella mean I'm well equipped for rain,

and as the saying goes, into each life a little rain
must fall. It seems so easy a thing to forget
on the sunny stretches, but I bring the rain upon my
own head-- I could avoid some of it if I was clear
about whether I'm up or down, but spring
gets me all turned around, silly as a goose,

confused as a nestless bird,
left outside to get soaked by the rain.
I feel more defenseless in the spring,
haunted by memories and feelings I need to forget,
fending off beloved dreams that make it clear
that this is where I want to roost, even though my

brain tells me to fly elsewhere, it's my
instincts that fly me back like a homing pigeon
to the one who always helped to make things clear.
It doesn't have to be this way, but into each life a little rain
must fall, and it won't wash my mind clean or help me forget.
It's the time of year I get nostalgic for a past spring.

To be clear, I don't blame it on spring--
My complete inability to even want to forget
the days billing and cooing like lovebirds, safe from the rain.