Rites of Spring
I loved her dearly, And, With each passing spring the time went by with a lazy, careless ease. In March, the westerly wild winds roared and howled, Bringing her closer with each passing storm. "Love me," she chanted, "Want me," she screamed, And I knew more as time ticked, I would never be free. April came green and glistening gold, The smell of rain, the smell of hope, Petrichor promises blossomed and sprung from the fer...
