Seasons Change (Sonnet)
How many ways can you describe the wheat 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