the Ides

APRIL IDES

Pretty petals,
Purple, pink,
A pale of plush
Upon a brink

At winter's edge,
Where spring resides,
Blossoms bud
'Round April's ides

On branches, still,
Lifeless, bare,
Can something grow
And still live there?

But every spring
God provides
Purple, pinks,
Near April's ides

To show that His,
Branches, bare,
Can still pulse pulp,
Possess a pear.

Or cherish an apple,
Leaf or peach,
Nothing is ever
Beyond His reach.

So beware March ides
When all seems lost,
Prune and pray,
No matter the frost.

Toiling, trusting
In Him Who guides...
March blizzards become blossoms...
On April's ides.