To This May

Bright sunlight cast flickering inclinations,

diadems of sharp triangles disturb orientations.

They seem more pronounced from summer to fall,

still, the slant of seasonal transition is sensed first call.

A twinge of anticipation, it seems the planet has shifted.

A twinge of nostalgic blues, a touch of anxiety, a bit of fear,

A bit of fever; in storms spring, summer begs to be lifted!

Protest, chant, scream! May Day tensions, come help me dear.

Mayday! Mayday, venez m'aider, the workers’ time to riot

around the world. Brothers, who’s left to crown the virgin,

queen of the roses, queen of the may? Bring the violet

filled tussie mussies of silver? Bullhorns bully, worker bees urge in...

Time to forget silky ribbons that twist around the maypole

Or pin the fascinator, pan-pan; we have heads to steer!

The world still comes one at a time, it’s spring again! who stole

the show; Now, one day, one season, one year.

Pretending not to move, spring finds its light more fair.

Birds nesting in the shadows of Haymarket square

remind the king’s men of their limits, the workers of legion,

of forgotten Sybil's midnight ride on Star... her pledge of allegiance.

Treefrogs bellow under a loyalist fountain of reason,

they're coming! They're coming again, another season.

She says, “The church must refuse to become an agent of the nation”.

To this May: the rites of spring beginning as it goes, no hesitation.