Tuesday, April 7, 2015

April Aria




Now frigid mantles melt in canticles of gray and gold
And eyes down-cast at times begin to lift, their longing gaze
Hungry for what we’ve come to know is veiled within her hold
Of lilac buds and lark-song, orchards frothed with blossom-haze

How poised, the brave and naked tree where breeze begins to stir
Upon the limb a diadem of hope’s most virgin green
And every field is like a child with arms flung wild, eager
For all that waits beyond the gates of winter-that-has-been

The stream gleams like a silver sash on earth’s modest, sage blouse
And countryside exhales like fellow-soldiers back from war
Her rising, falling ebb and flow of hold-let-go arouse
-es plans and dreams and readiness where soil and toil implore

The rusty, ragged overcoat of reeds will soon be shed
And gaping hills will soon be draped in capes of verdant sheath
And where the rotund ridge sports listless bristles, soon instead
Of these, pansy, daisy and dandelion bloom beneath

…the azure sweep of leisure deep where skies are warm and wide
For April is a garden ready for the dance of feet
And April is a farmer’s verve and April is a bride
And April is a pussy-willow patterned window-seat


© Janet Martin

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