It was 75 degrees yesterday and still there are a few piles of black snow. It has me wishing for spring.

A Priest’s Prayer

When the sun summons spring,

and the damnable winter wilts,

I’m a dallier in the oneiric odor of dank, dark, dirt,

where worms waggle across warming soil

with the dance of dapper dandy birds.

When will I change my chasuble

and drink from this chalice of green spring?

Dappled at dawn with dew,

displaying their war-bonnet of winter,

daffodils dangle, dallying in their spring affair.

When will I change my chasuble

and drink from this chalice of green spring?

Dandified dandelions dot the green grass

and willingly with warmth

morph to white hairy seeds,

mischievous hitchhikers, chariots in the wind,

their sparkling sprinkles of spring

chased by children chagrined with winter.

When will I change my chasuble

and drink from this chalice of green spring?