Spring Pasture
︎︎︎ Carson Russ
︎ Apr 12, 2026
In a pasture still wet with winter’s deluge,
The birds of the swamp revel in their triumph;
Plump with praise for thickened verdure
And the mild grandfather entrusted with all–
Not omitting the sunken black
Bursting ripe with white within,
Carrying reality on whiffs of inertia.
Hers was a suffering denied
The dignity of a noble covert.
How horrifying to lie senseless
Seeing all in which we found relief
Witnessing the moment we are devoured,
Curious without the means to care.
We can only lose what cannot be replaced.
I have given up the prospect of a happy spring.
The birds of the swamp revel in their triumph;
Plump with praise for thickened verdure
And the mild grandfather entrusted with all–
Not omitting the sunken black
Bursting ripe with white within,
Carrying reality on whiffs of inertia.
Hers was a suffering denied
The dignity of a noble covert.
How horrifying to lie senseless
Seeing all in which we found relief
Witnessing the moment we are devoured,
Curious without the means to care.
We can only lose what cannot be replaced.
I have given up the prospect of a happy spring.
Carson Russ is a writer from the Appalachian region of rural Ohio.