Waiting Kills

Waiting Kills

Though we know the spring has to come,
the heart sinks.
In the waiting lurks the dark despair,
the thought that at every step in the dark
there is a wind, high on the hill and damp in intent,
that will beat back
and ride ahead of spring.
The rains, untimely, out of season, will be stubborn
and they will pour rage out of the bleak sky.
And when the spring arrives it finds you half dead.
The things are not what they ought to be.
The days of waiting almost kill.