Dripping icicles--
Bright play of sun and snow shine;
Inside, all subdued.
A morning stillness;
The drips outside are silent
In my quiet house.
Now it feels like Spring;
Alfred's just chewing his cud
Lying on in the sun.
High pitched dissonance--
Chorus of wild geese flying
Bisecting heaven.
A new bird's whistle;
It's not been here this winter;
It sings of the spring.
On this day, Mama,
You were born into this world.
How I miss you now.
My old stump buddies
Have shed their winter snow coats
Ready for Spring.
The tiny tree stumps
Don't seem to know they're dead--
Stand upright (not tall).
No comments:
Post a Comment