Saturday, May 11, 2013

Dew on Your Fingers

The trees will bud soon, but remaining bare
They shiver at the sky's thin blue and grey.
It was still winter, only yesterday,
Tomorrow we will all hopefully stare
At live green shoots, but right now nothing's there.
Ice melts; the children don't know where to play;
The sun rose early; who knows what to say?
The geese fly home, now that the weather's fair.

There will be flowers, rainbows, gardens, tea
Served over ice outside. The wind is still,
The clouds shift slowly past a distant hill,
And you remember how spring used to be:
Dew on your fingers. Not now. Watch with me,
Your elbows propped up on the windowsill.

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