Persephone, to Spring

mother insists
that we live in the light,
but I have learned to love the dark,
whom she fears:

she wants the world to live forever.
wastelands arose at her whim,
a world laid waste by grief.
I cannot mourn the death

from which springs life, first shoots
beneath my feet as I tread
barefoot back to her,
to keep her sunshine-safe.

Goodbye, tender leaves, start of spring:
I will gather you home when I return.


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