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

 

 

 

I know It Will Be Spring

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I know it will be spring

When the geese take up and leave

Yes, they’re beautiful graceful things

Their droppings though my peeve

 

I resent the season

Migration filling skies

A calendar with reason

Even so tears my eyes

 

Autumn, but a slant of change

A casual cool correction

Beauty in flight high and strange

Season’s savage intersection

I remember the sun

On its loving summer arc

Children ever on the run

Sleeveless in the park

Grown to love warmth and ease

And even winter’s thaw

I see the cold an ugly tease

Catching me bitter and raw

 

Every day the feathered armada

Noisily hugs the shore

Summer is persona-non-grata

And I want it all the more