What is this frost after frost in May?
\nSheltering my flowers from the cold.
\nI look at the silver on the grass,
\nscintillating cold,
\nface of white rapture,
\nand am softened.
\nBut why must spring
\nplay such tricks with itself,
\nhemming and hawing,
\nas an ingenue enters a dance floor,
\nto flirt,
\nto tease,
\nor fly with feet of joy?<\/p>\n
I am the poor gardener,
\nthe boy at the window,
\nthe old beggar,
\nwanting his turn.
\nWanting to put out his impatiens,
\nhis argyle colors of rouge and white,
\nbegonias of orange and yellow.
\nBut the cold comes and stays,
\nfalls like the breath of faraway dreams
\nrising from the snow.
\nA lunar sea of ice
\nlooking through the door of spring,
\nseeing the festival about to begin,
\nin love with its cold lips,
\nand refusing to go.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s time to leave.
\nTime to let the summer in.
\nTo let the sun have its day.
\nLet my garden bloom
\nlike a girl with red cheeks,
\nand eyes of rainbows.
\nNo more cold.
\nI love the austerity of winter.
\nIts planetary lines and geometry,
\nbut my heart needs seasons
\nto keep track of time,
\nto see fresh horizons,
\nand read stories of awakening,
\nthat expand the soul.
\nIt\u2019s time.
\nLet summer have its turn!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
What is this frost after frost in May? Sheltering my flowers from the cold. I look at the silver on the grass, scintillating cold, face…<\/p>\n