I.

                                                                 Seeing the saints go marching in,

                                                                 Saint Valentine decides to fall in line

                                                                 Slight ennui in heaven makes earth appear divine,

                                                                 As his namesake day of romance is about to begin.

 

                                                                 Aiming to see Cupid with his bow and arrow,

                                                                 He fails to see the purple, gold, and green,

                                                                 Rex and Consort, Comus and Queen,

                                                                 And all but the purple fading in sorrow.

 

                                                                For until now, not for seventy-three years

                                                                Have courtly love and penance converged in this way.

                                                                Saint Valentine, amused, proclaims at the seeming insanity:

 

                                                               "Feed your desire, and fast with tears,

                                                               With roses, chocolate, and ashes honor the day.

                                                               Thus confused, you shall most affirm your humanity."

II.

One month later, and a few days more,

With Lent's last lament comes a knock at the door.

III.

"Spring! Is that you?"

You are early! And what is this?

No buds or blossoms,

No honeysuckle's fragrant kiss.

Not even a crocus petal;

Or did they come and go?

Can this be like any Springtime

I am supposed to know?

So shocked that I forgot

That "go" rhymes perfectly with snow?

With no visible sun or moon,

Where are equal day and night?

The announcement was for a quarter after noon,

On the twentieth day of March.

With coat and gloves in hand

Most thought it none too soon,

But not this way . . . 

Never mind! You are here!

But in such strange array!

No tender grass, no ladybugs,

No caterpillars at play,

No frolicking sunbeams

To tease my eyes,

No buds or blossoms . . . 

Just a snow-wrapped surprise!

Guess what? I love it!

For I am loathe to leave

Winter's icy tingle.  My shoe soles

Want to cleave to frigid glistening ground,

And the frosty edges of my sleeve

Love the brick wall's snowy mound.

I relish the way that snowflakes mingle

On my tongue and eyelids,

While, like a scythe, the gale

Rips assumption from its roots,

And my presumption makes me chew

As I wait for summer's fruits. 

IV.

Thus such a riddle of a season

Graces the year with no explicit reason.

Nonetheless, for the blessing of grateful reflection

From sonnet to nonet we praise the Resurrection.

V.

Had the first Easter been April First,

Would the angel beside the tomb,

Gloating at death's death, glibly

Quipped, "April Fool!"? Faith in

Life is life's foolish

Miracle to

Know that death

Is no

More.

 

updated by @nancy-e-wright2: 10/14/18 08:37:23PM