May has arrived
without my knowing.
It crept inside
with an invisible cloak
and wore the mask of April.
It is so peculiar
for me to not have noticed.
May is my month,
My mother's month as well.
May means possibilities
I may have a wonderful May day.
I was sure May
would don flowers
blossoming in the plains.
that is not the case.
May still cries
for her flowers.
April did not
cry enough, it seems.
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Comments about this poem (May by Unintelligible Susurration )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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