Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Then, At the Very Thought Of It

From this...

to this...

 I needed to dig out some 'green-gold bliss'. we are in a long deep, cold spell...

Beneath a sleek and silver sweep
The songs of summer soundly sleep
Tuning the tempest-stricken deep
With hope of spring and things to come
Then, at the very thought of it
The frigid noon-day thaws a bit
And draws the mind to pause and sit
Warmed by a sigh where zephyrs strum

And where mute tree-limbs creak and groan
With winter’s brute- bleak monotone
A gentler melody enthrones
The place that waits for green-gold bliss
Then suddenly, the heart laughs, wild
With hope of foot-loose summer-child
For where ten-thousand sun-beams smiled
Our famished faces sense spring’s kiss

We press our wishes to Time’s glass
Where snow-swaddled arrangements pass
In twirling, swirling choruses
Like minuets of hide-and-seek
While earth, a meek ice-mantled rose
Let’s old Man Winter tweak Her nose
And toes with howls; for oh, she knows
She holds a garden in Her cheek

© Janet Martin

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!