The Surprise of Coreopsis, a prose poem

coreopsis  Will I change once the pre-dawn robin songs return? The songs are late, yet the mud crusted opaque ice is too long staying and will the chorus frogs under the ice survive? They should be singing as well, but they are silent, I am silent but for the hissing inside my head, and can I, will I, should I feel spring fever again, if spring ever returns? Will I feel that regret and joy spring brings, the feeling as if all is possible and yet that all has passed us by simultaneously?
If the flood of spring sun does not return or at least the surprise of coreopsis, I cannot be opaque dirty ice.

I just cannot.