The sky-line falls and rises like the tempo of a tune
Where wind stampedes, an obscure tyrant vexing tattered pine
The valley yearns for sparkle of a sun-warm afternoon
With children running barefoot ‘neath the curling merlot vine
The hillside slopes toward the sallow span of waning day
No laughing lover strolls this winter-stricken solitude
Surreal the fancy of spring’s darling apple-blossom May
Where February walks in gray, a maiden plain, subdued
The blustering battalion of sleet-snow-squall regiment
Is in sore need of furlough; we encourage its retreat
How long will Time insist on emptying its discontent
In fresh volley of vandals shod with ice upon their feet?
The doggerel of daisy day-dreams dangles daringly
Beyond the frosted window-pane against the snarling air
Are silver sun-swept seashores but fine fairy frippery?
I’ve heard spring-peepers serenade the dusk, but where, oh where?
The skyline falls and rises; what a moody madrigal
But I am not a damsel in distress nor prone to fret
The horse and rider in the sky is preordained to fall
Thus I know that its steel facade will spill its violets yet
© Janet Martin