dreary winter, bird songs drowned out by rain.
Drops drip in streaks upon the windowpane,
pocks of puddles in the storm-soaked lawn. Yet,
a hint of blue peeks out, as if it met
the blackened clouds en route to earth and came
to save us. Birds chase the air, their rain-stained
feathers flying to the treetops, buoyant
avigation. Early signs of spring's sight.
You ponder rhymes to speak on paper, ink
blots blooming flowers, sunshine, painting pink
pictures on the page, portal to heart's light.
You know those words that terrify you? Be
brave. Secrets spoke aloud will set you free.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019