A Time Not To Be Denied, a poem by John Grey at Spillwords.com

A Time Not To Be Denied

A Time Not To Be Denied

written by: John Grey

 

The hills are dour.
Even the green is gray.
But a spark comes from somewhere.
The doleful sun?
The last dribble of thawed snow?
The final crackle of curled up brown leaves?
It could even be my bones,
moving more freely
without winter’s stranglehold

And there’s always the calendar,
declaring, without a doubt,
that weather’s page has turned.
Spring is here.

Mostly, it’s those bones
I listen to.
They’re old hands at this.
Old legs too.

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