Tristan Robert Lange

Springtime Silence Stirs

The dismal gray skies

Cover the vernal landscape

Like a silver tarp.

The ash firmament

A grieving look at death’s deed,

In yesterday’s storm.

The rain still falling

In the stillness of mourning.

The spring sun won’t shine.

A bush wet with beads,

The rain dripping off its leaves,

Sits still—there’s no breeze.

But—lo—there in the silence,

The green’ry starts to shudder.

Out little Wilhelmina comes

Alone, by herself, hesitant.

Woodchuck is out for fun in tons.

She rises up—is reticent—

The groundhog knows danger looms near;

Alone, by herself, hesitant—

The coast seems clear—there’s naught to fear.

Still, the pup sniffs a bit longer,

The groundhog knows danger looms near.

That said, she has become stronger—

Wiser—she has learned to sense first—

So, the pup sniffs a bit longer

And, not sensing the drool monger,

Wilhelmina finally runs.

Wiser, she has learned to sense first—

Now she flies at a speed that stuns.

Yes, little Wilhelmina comes—

The groundhog pup finally runs—

Woodchuck is out for fun in tons.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.