The morning light brightens the night
Earlier each time it comes around,
The warming comes with the increasing sun,
Less need for my cloak wrapped around;
The spring is here.
My late night stalks becoming mere walks,
And soon others are leaving their homes,
Invading dismal space with their waking face,
Crowding me from the memorial stones.
The spring is here.

They come with new blooms to brighten an old tombs;
A marker of thoughts unexpressed for half a year,
As if time spent here now makes a difference somehow
With the escaping winter chill and warmth now near,
Does it change the decomposition?
They spend a few moments with knees briefly bent,
And slightly reflect on past which is future yet to be
Then stroll by newly dug soil to plant another spent coil.
Before they have left here they no longer can see
The pains of change of others emotion.

Those twilight morns before the new day is born
Always has been my time of comfort and reflection,
Without late nights drunks or the morning’s young punks
The cycle’s only true peacefully calm section,
The dark times shrink,
The spring is here.