Murderous Spring, You kill Winter’s white snow
with slushed grey, formless and hapless and dead.
Her alabaster limbs, fresh dewed of frost,
You mock with leaflets of chartreuse and dread.
Winter’s night of shimmering, sequined stars
is flattened, pummeled to a deer-fur matte:
none may share a stake of Nature’s allure,
stashing her flowers like a selfish rat.