Frozen Blossoms 

Here, the weather in March is fickle.

It’s mean and cruel.

It shines at 84 degrees

And lures the fruit trees into blooming.

The morning after, brisk and cold,

Without a shred of empathy, 

It freezes.

I see the blossoms clot.

They grieve and fall upon the ground 

Like autumn leaves.

-jenn