The Singing Season

Time and the Pear

There is a delicate desolation
already underneath the pear trees,

a white litter the breeze,
let slip, let flip down,
beneath laden, offering boughs

yet, sparse, this day the apple deigns
firsts of its blossoms shall carouse
with bumbles.
                               One waxes, one wanes.

But wane so soon?
                                        Assuaged
waxen smears lie pretty on the black,
welcoming mulch, rites of passage
(christened, married, fell back
on last breath)
                              Solomon Grundy
flew through under one slow handful
of confetti trickling from a tree -

wain-load of white petals time pulls
on top of him a few days along
the gusty rain-spat spring track;

and all these dandelions - thick
in heavy oils and palate-knife strong
be transparencies thinnest brush
must water-color -
                                      sail their valor,
breeze-puffed, to the dolor
of an empty button.
                                        Hush. Hush.

So spring procures
yet tells us all -
                               for time
there are no cures:
let bluebells chime.

......................

'Solomon Grundy' is a traditional rhyme of a life in a week with rites of passage. There are many variations. This is one:

Solomon Grundy:
born on Monday,
christened on Tuesday,
married on Wednesday,
took ill Thursday,
shriven on Friday,
died on Saturday,
buried on Sunday.
That's the end of Solomon Grundy.