strange time in my life

world poetry day always
falls the day after the spring equinox
– what the american's call
"the first day of spring".

Is this because we
fall to our feet
flustered
at the sight of cherry blossom
magnolia trees
and daffodils?

and when we are on the floor
do we get out our notepads,
pens and pencils out,
to create beautiful poetry to share?

Or does the long dark winter,
with it's traps and pitfalls
give us long dark months
to write the perfect poem,
and are we only brave enough
to share our words
when bees buzz in our ear
and the sky above is blue?