FLOWERS TO COME

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Waiting for words to come – from the sun

Winter words have gone

Melted into the rain and mist

In a season that dares complaint  –

Forcing – muddy

Solemn looks through paned windows

And the worm-fatted robins giving up

Their red breasts against the spring storm

Today

I call the flowers to come

And color with their

Paint brush petals –

Swiping tints over my shortened horizon

A Spring – loud and honest

Quieting the hissing of time

That skulks behind the woodshed

Ignored, for now drowned

In the sun’s blaring bugle

Calling the shy pastel asters and

The State Fair zinnias

To summer’s hot stage