Comes in on muddy skids Ignoring the calendar Shaving its low gray brow Undercover of a high cloudy sky Wet with anticipation It comes in when you see & hear The great white flock Of tundra swans Trailed by a few dark geese all Bellowing goodbyes From overhead It comes The day you’ve had enough of Of ice and frozen bones The day you refuse to acquiesce To your bed until the sun breaks the spell Shaking off the coldest month In the history of keeping warm It comes The day you throw Off winter covers & sing songs Warm enough to overtake The sorrow that is homemade And unnecessary Share this:ShareFacebookWhatsAppEmailRedditLike this:Like Loading... Related 2 Comments Gwen, I love the image of spring coming in on muddy skids. I’d never have thought of that. Good one! Reply Thanks 😊 Reply Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here... Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email (required) (Address never made public) Name (required) Website You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change ) Cancel Connecting to %s Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Δ Post navigation Previous Previous post: Morning’s ReflectionNext Next post: The Ghosts of Jr. High
I love the image of spring coming in on muddy skids. I’d never have thought of that. Good one!