pearls sewn on wedding
dresses, shining…
Spring
field brown is dingy
grass is achingly green…
i dont even know what to do with myself now
do we all agree to just wait for spring…
Through the frosted glass,
a feathered friend is calling…
The smell of warm dust,
at the edge of the new grass…
Appreciated,
by birds, flowers, human bees…
Normally hated,
Hot, bleak, and blinding, burning…
Clear your head,
they say,
and I agree,
except I cannot
clear my hand
without clear air
and pine scent carried
down the hill….
A small herd of deer passed through the woods, nibbling at the leaves and shoots of the undergrowth that had sprouted as Spring began…
I don’t want to worry anyone,
but it’s still cold outside…
Daily Poets 