Grief is not reserved for the dead or dying.
Sometimes it joins us for other loss,
for those we love or admire
when they surrender, retire, decide
the time has come to part ways.
We are left with longing.
We are left with wishing.
We are left with sorrow.
We know that this moment in history
is gone, and things will never be the same.
And we feel that things will never change.
Spring is the time for renewal,
when hope should be a nestling ready to fly,
a blade of grass peeking out from the snow;
but today the sky is grayer than the darkest
days of winter; cold sneaks under the doors
with the wind howling like old white men
trying to wrest control of the room. Hope
for a new season has been lost
and Old Man Winter smiles a wry
smile, knowing that he is secure for now.
Still, somewhere a robin is singing.
Somewhere an old man is dying
and a baby is born and she—
she is the promise of tomorrow.