Waiting for Yellow

It is a long winter wait for the weeds of spring,
the exuberant volunteers in the untended fields,
yellow and purple flowers emerging
from the grey brown remains of winter.

You are patient now. It was not always so.
Even as you age and there is not as much time
left to you, you are patient, having learned
the cycles of life have their own schedule

and all the important things. Love. Faith.
The emergence of color will come when they come.
You can nudge, nurture, prepare the soil,
all efforts that make you feel you are

doing something.

But in the end, the weather of life has its own schedule
and all that is required of you is to be ready,
to know all winters end. Spring is inevitable. And so,
be ready as long as life exists. Wait

for the yellow.
It is closer than you think.

About this poem

One of the things about having some age is that I (and all of us) have survived much, lost much, and had much good emerge in our lives. When things are bad, we know it is only for now. When they are good, we know to savor that goodness.

And a poem about winter and spring.

I have a thing for yellow. Even when it is just a hint of it in my paintings, it is often the centerpoint of the art.

From all that, this poem. Poetry is never about one thing.

Tom