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