The Tides of 'Almost Spring'

The tides of spring

They weep and sing

In oceans from the sky

To glassy ponds

And stricken fronds

She lays her garments by

And on the girth

Of somber earth

She hints with softened lips   

Of under-tones

In violet moans

And emerald finger-tips

The darkened slope

Stripped of its robe

Is begging for her kiss

The umber tide

Of dull hill-side

Unclenches its cold fist

The woodland stark

Against the dark

Is budding with desire

And in the tomb

Of autumn’s bloom

Smolders a hidden fire

The tides of spring

They weep and sing

In love-songs warm and tender

Winter defies

But in his eyes

Are whispers of surrender

© Janet Martin

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