Transfixed Betwixt

 As I poem-sketch, ice-rain pelts the windowpane...

I’d pry flowers from your fist

Meadows mint-green, dawn dew-kissed

If I could I would untwist

Hills swathed in silk-amethyst

I’d tie ribbons to the breeze

Violet-scented melodies

Purple and la crème pansies

Like Spring’s fair, best-dressed ladies

I’d fling petals to the air

Plush, like a pink teddy bear

If I could, oh, I would dare

To find winter’s wild-wind lair

I’d dance barefoot while gales blow

Disguising the undertow

Of hills white with daisy-snow

Where spring-winter ebbs and flows

I’d try to persuade the sky

To be blue-eyed like July

If I could I would defy

Those pebbles that pelt my sigh

If I could I would design

Buds half-grinning on a vine

Where the world waits for its prime

Betwixt spring and winter time

© Janet Martin