On Difficult Spring Days

If the white-throat’s sweet whistle
is just another sound in the background

If you discount the red-wings’ rasp
or the goldfinches’ tinkle
as too common to stir your imagination

If the wood poppy’s sunny face
no longer moves you to joy
or the bleeding heart’s pink opulence
fails to stop you in mid-step

For a moment
lay aside what you carry
all that weighs you down
and go and sit
among them