Spring Remembers Him
The garden border just outside my door
Fills up with verve and beauty at this time.
Those feathered pinks of peonies galore
Are weighted down this morning at the prime
Of April, nearly May. Bright weight of rain
Embraces petals in its drops and makes
Them droop with heaviness defying pain.
The slightest tulip breeze caresses, shakes,
And sways the fragile-looking maple leaves.
Their color waves a living nonpareil
Red—red involved with sanctity which grieves
With vernal prettinesses. These prevail.
A little tree I planted for one man
Who died now spreads above this flowered span.