BAUDELAIRE'S SPRING


You greet the dawn of April
without a care
like the fragrant wind
as sweet remnants in the air
or walking on spring leaves
expecting birds to sing canticles
like mourning doves
who rise above the church bell
believing in a love we share,
Baudelaire,always feeling
as a vagrant albatross
with a poet's words of miracles
yet after passing the unwell
in the hospital hallways
you seize the moments
when laughter is vulnerable
from your own double crossed despair
in perceiving Hell's torments ache
as your troubled life is unfair
from your emanating wake.