Spring has arrived.
Occasional snow gently falls.
Birds have come back to the feeder
and challenge the squirrels for their rightful place.
Daffodils peek through the porous earth,
like sleepy children in morning fog,
confused by the cool cloudy days.
The garden is drab and restrained,
awaiting the burst of rose and daisy.
Soon the sound of summer voices will
honor the season's warmth
and we will linger in the consecrated place,
gliding back and forth, sharing memories
of other occasions.
Soft birdsong will bring a sense of peace...
the air will fill with it
and thoughts of the recent winter will be a
thing of the past.
Copyright 2008 By- Barbara Davis
3 comments:
Very good! You are a poet and know we know it!
Oops, that's what I get for not paying attention! What I meant to say is "You are a poet and now we know it"
I like this one because you let the scene tell the story. And, you extended the line--I like meaty lines--10 syllables or there about. Good job.
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