The Memory Of Spring

The Memory Of Spring
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Oh, how the memory of spring
has blown right through me,
a passing wind on the way to its end.

I have an appointment with winter
and I must keep it; time is shifting on,
an incurious visitor in a museum.

I am changed, changed for life
from the tenderness of fresh roots,
the youth of an infant year:

Hardened by summer's leather blaze,
toughened by autumn's blustering summons,
the churning of winter will find me strong.

Goodbye, spring! I choose to embrace
the bleak desolation of what will come;
the turning of tides will not turn me back.

Won 2nd Place in Round 7 of "Verdant Poetry Contest"