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