The Schizophrenia of Spring

The Schizophrenia of Spring

I am teased by the schizophrenia of Spring.
Can I pack away the coats and mittens and scarves,
Or will I be caught unawares by the pad-footed return of snow?

The wind blows hot, it blows cold, but it always blows
The next storm, the next mild day...
It just blows.

Is this not my life? I walk through sun and blue skies
Only to be blown into a new storm, a new grey silk-clouded moment.
But under the spring snow, crocuses stretch from their long winter sleep
And suddenly, suddenly
as if by a greater, deeper magic, raise white heads to the sun.

I am teased by the schizophrenia of Spring.
Even though I remember, remember from fifty springs
That summer will come, I am none the less teased by a slightly mad,
Slightly mad weather man with coats of many colors.

Deeper magic will reign and summer will return.