colored patch of grass outside your window?
And the mulch of dead, dried leaves, empty tree
limbs overhead? How many times you know
winter will not last, flower buds will see
the light of day any day, spring will show
her colors, blue will break the clouds, the sweet
scent of honeysuckle is soon to blow
by. The skies are turning, newly painted
pictures burst out in joy, yellow pops of
dandelions dot the reacquainted
seasons, sounds and songs of nature in love
with itself. You suffered through your barren
months; trust that warmth, next, is what will happen.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019