My grandmother was a poet

I know absolutely nothing about poetry, especially how to interpret it, but hope to learn more some day.  My father's mother Jessie Goddard Broman has a published book of her poetry called "Design for Words".  One thing I think I had in common with her is my love for nature and art.  So in honor of the first full day of Spring, I'm posting one of her poems:

"Spring in a Minor Key"

Night turns on a rusty hinge

To bring a dingy dawn,

Gray-faced and yawning;

Tall buildings hang rootless in fog,

Practicing their loneliness.

What is the keynote of the wind

In the hand-talking trees?

To what are the hard-lined houses tuned

Alone in the cold?

The people are asleep in their cocoons

Waiting for day and life...

Only death sits on the curb,

Waiting for the crash

That accompanies night;

Only the green bones of the tulip

Say, spring...

Only my longing

Curled within

Like a butterfly's tongue.