Springtime Poem by Chris Zachariou

In the season of dusk and sadness,
I recall flights of little swallows heading
down south in the sleepy skies of summer.

‘Is this it? ' asks a baffled man.
A blackbird on the chimney squawks,
'There'll never be another springtime'
then it jeers and mocks him.

The jester loves the young queen,
and a mournful owl on the roof
hoots the prince's final lines:
‘The rest is silence.*'

The trees, withered and almost bare,
plead with Persephone to stay—
they know September is almost here.

* Hamlet's final line