Nearing the End of my Spring

Nearer, nearer to the end of my spring
The vague goals for my summer out of sight;
To dawn’s bright horizon I’m wandering,
Blinded and lost as I was in the night;
Wish I’d a map, even if just a bit,
A compass that points northwestward at best
Don’t know where I’m headed, but will not quit,
For fear all too near may come need to rest.
One day nearing end of my white season,
Accomplishments from my year out of sight,
And down to dark dusk, or so I reason,
Both blind and lost as I enter the night;
Though in my path lie thorn, thicket, and brush
I’ll enjoy it, no hesitance, or rush.