You Are Spring

I’ve been remiss in posting for National Poetry Month, but wanted to share a Gwendolyn Brooks poem that was recently introduced to me.

This somewhat late and scraggly Spring seemed the perfect time for it.

 

“To the Young Who Want to Die”

Gwendolyn Brooks

 

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale.

The gun will wait. The lake will wait.

The tall gall in the small seductive vial

will wait will wait:

will wait a week: will wait through April.

You do not have to die this certain day.

Death will abide, will pamper your postponement.

I assure you death will wait. Death has

a lot of time. Death can

attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is

just down the street; is most obliging neighbor;

can meet you any moment.

 

You need not die today.

Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness.

Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow.

 

Graves grow no green that you can use.

Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

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