A warm day in New England spring
is like an abusive spouse in a good mood.
You venture into the sunshine
with a weather eye open.
Samantha picked a crocus,
clutching it as two-year-olds do,
stem limp, petals askew,
a treasure forgotten from a year ago.
The next day copious flakes of snow
crowded the violent air as though
the vernal goddess, herself, had been
roughly handled.
A lively tug of war of tension, here, enhanced with well-defined images of sharp contrast.
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