Some Late Night Poetry

Sometimes good writing can happen at inopportune times...like when I want to sleep. But then when it is done, I don't regret spending some more time awake.

Tulips in the spring
Slowly wake up
They send out feelers
From the ground
Through the snow and dirt.
Thick stalky leaves wink at the sun
Looking forward to the coming of seasons.

As the snow melts away
The leaves and stems grow
To be a support and a pedestal
For a colorful bloom.
February has marched into April,
The temperature warms, and she always
Turns her face towards the sun.

But the sun turns on her
And withers first her velvety petals,
Stealing the crown of beauty
That once sat upon her long neck.
As May turns to June, almost all is lost.

There she lies, a mere shadow
And lump of brown root.
Her Gardner thought once or twice
Of excavating, of unearthing from the
Dirt filled niche,
But that was too long ago. He has
Forgotten.

Forgotten still, she sits through
SummerAutumnWinter.
The hardened shell keeps her safe,
Protected,
Warm, comforted.
There is nothing.
Just a shell of what used to be.

And with time comes Spring.
And with death there is life.
And with Spring comes tulips.