Optimistic Poem

It’s been a while. Let me get used to it.
I knew about the widows, of course,
but hadn’t quite expected the crutches,
the walking-frames, or that poor agitated
soul endlessly pacing at the front.
On the other hand, the baby chirruping
during the one minute’s silence
could hardly have given any offence.

It’s been a late, cold spring; last year’s was
also cold and late, but it happened.
Normal operations are being resumed.
Someone has died, at nearly a hundred,
of natural causes. Weep, but not too much.
That white shower was not snow, but petals.