Before you understand
what elusive thing you yearn
when the sap is rising, turning
stark limbs blossoming with bird song,

Before you can define
such elusive bliss,
which to your way of thinking
is the only thing that’s missing,

You have to understand despair.

You have to look it in the eye
as it brings you to your knees,
You have to sport the bruises
of an ego bled.

When you listen
to that lobo lonesome sigh
that mutilates the air with sorrow
from so far deep inside

you forget it comes from you,

When suddenly one hopeless morn,
April slips in with the sun,
then you understand
what it was you yearned for all winter long.