May’s sweet finale begins now with a sweep
of trumpets and bells, its pastel tones rising high
into the perfumed air. Larks come, and robins,
to carry the song to the trees, to the sky.
May herself waltzes the fields, strewn with
her violets and phlox, buttercups and clover.
Rainbows flow from her feet as she goes
and the grasses bow to her song.
Across the forests and meadows her song sings,
over the green rolling valleys and hills.
And it sounds like love and wraps itself softly
over all the wee creatures she brought to the world.
“May you flourish, dear children,” she sings.
“I leave you the gift of my joy. May you thrive,
sweet babies, I love you.” And she whispers
her tender goodbyes.