Lombard Spring / Rondeau á Lago Maggiore



The Spring won’t come. A dun bird shifts
his leaden wing and preens the quick
unplanished sky. The rain holds back
above the glacier’s mirrored lac.
Sheet pinned to sheet clouds sullen drift,

Mountain’s iron foot shores the split,
Dis’ black horses elude the bit.
In white re-dressed the peak sounds back:
The Spring won’t come!

Persephone irons out her shift,
Twists off her leaden ring and quick
folds up famine’s sheet; sighs, turns back
to Somnus’ smile ingrained with lack
of sleep pinned to sleep, beauty drifts,
the Spring won’t come.

by Bonnie Mcclellan copyright 2011

listen to this poem here: 

Real-time webcam view of Lago Maggiore from Cerro

By bonniemcclellan

Mother, poet, american ex-pat from Texas living in Northern Italy.



    Spring never comes
    On the Lac Majeur
    As it always stands there
    Under shades of the grey

    Climbing rains are drawing
    Shapes of past futures
    While clouds of wisteria
    Lead the paths of fools and warriors

    Whatever time is playing
    Masters of the rhythm
    Unslaved to their smile
    Keep the eyes open on the void

  2. btw, this makes me think to this song (with great lyrics):

    mort shuman, before he came living in france, wrote a large number of tunes with doc pomus for a certain elvis preley; here’s another of his french songs:

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