Short a Bloom

The March cardinal

keeps watch atop a budding pear.

Trill sergeant red above

the echoing trash men's

morning rounds.

Springer spaniel needs brushing,

loose matts of liver brown curl

scattered in the trees

for sparrow nests.

The tulip momento

of my Pastor's daughter's funeral

pushes through mud,

the yellow ones

we bought at market may blossom

sooner, but they won't match

the smile of her memorial

photograph.

A man of the cloth

cut no different from the rest.

This spring will gain a flower

but be short a bloom.