April Morning

Just last night
there was only death here,
dry sticks,
ghosts of lilacs past
and here with the dawn
comes more than light,
but life.

About this poem

The picture was taken of a lilac bush behind my house. And truly, there was hardly a bud last night when I walked past them. This morning? Green.

Life is like that too sometimes. A long cold winter. A death inside. Then suddenly…. you realize not only are you not dead, you are growing, reaching for the light, reclaiming spring.