Spring Always Stutters

Yellow dwarf daffodil (Narcissus asturiensis) in bloom. Photo taken on a 25-degree day in Greensboro, NC.

Maybe I'm gullible,
and I'll believe anything
simply because it
sounds, tastes, smells
real;
or because it
looks, feels, seems
convincing.
But I'm not crazy.
You shined your sun on me,
kept me warm for days.
(or was it weeks?)
You whispered,
It's time. Come out of hiding.
Even the birds returned,
filling the air with song.
The trees themselves
started humming along.
So, I believed.
After holding my breath so long,
I exhaled
the most delicate parts of me
into the world.

And then it froze again.

Should I be angry,
Or feel deceived,
Shake my fist,
Shout, "I am aggrieved!"?
What if,
as it turns out,
I can withstand a pretty good freeze,
two, three, even four with ease,
Enough not to begrudge
Spring's stuttery start?
I ought to know by now—
Spring
          Always
                   Stutters.
In that light,
an angry posture seems
a terrible way to squander
All this beauty I exude.