spring is coming, the long wait over,
can't you feel it in the air, see it in the sun?
even now the grass is greening,
only forty days until the new life's begun.
you wear the old in ashes on your forehead,
like penitence, remembrance,
reminder of the thing you were before,
but what the rain won't wash off,
the wind will blow away,
to join the earth from which the flowers grow.
[therese: idk? is this something like what you were hoping for?]