Without Question

by R. D. Ashby

Spring is filling up the trees
like an ice cold lager rising in a glass.
Their flowers like a thickening head
of froth brim over untidily with days.

My thoughts are here bound by
spring’s expectation, caught up in the
renewed affection to live; I pause
in the shade to reflect awhile.

What incentive is there for renewal?
What the urge for life and propagation?
Or is it all assumed without question –
and in the experience answered.

23-Apr-2015

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