A Language We Never Forget

 Robins return in spite of the snow...c'mon winter, give it a rest already!! yes, it's snowing...

Your language, easy to relearn

With the return of robin-song

And plush rush of warm rain upon

The plot of forget-me-not berm

Fills us with fuss of green-leaf trees

And wave-washed leas, and sun-bronzed feet

Though windows frame the dull retreat

Of winter’s ragged remnant fleece

Your language, soft as silk that flows

Around our toes from skeins aloft

Lavishes winter-weary croft

With vision of lilac and rose

That grows where now the lagging rogue

Has torn a hole into his sack

And feathers fall, a small attack

Mustered against unflustered brogue

…of you, sweet, sanguine dialect

Of stream gold-flecked, of daffodil

And violet and daisy hill

That none but you can resurrect

With words, the sweetest ever heard

Of anthems stirred that long have slept

While winter its chill vigil kept

Still you spill whispers, undeterred

© Janet Martin