Limbo-land...

I love-love this in-between-seasons season!

The land is like a hand outstretched and waiting for its prize

Where tawny tints and honeyed glints arouse the dreamer’s sighs

The air is rife with scents of life beneath earth’s deadened scrim

Where hope sails from its harbor and ignites the farmer’s hymn

The sky is like a blue-flung paradise that none can touch

The breeze like melodies that hint at rose-gardens and such

The park is like a golden palace perched on middle-day

The yard, a postcard filled with chatter of children at play

The housewife is a-singing and a-flinging windows wide

Her mops and brooms humming a tune of simple, homespun pride

The woodland, like a chapel where the canticle of lark

Stirs from the rustiest of throats a song straight from the heart

The storehouse, overflowing with white-feather fluff and stars

 Spills rain-song from its rafters and tips laughter from its jars

Where earth is like a table scrubbed clean of last-summer’s mess

And readied for a banquet of flower-draped happiness 

The Thing that none can barter with wrings gold from gray ho-hum

It holds rebirth in limbo twixt what was and is to come

The land is like a hand outstretched and eager for the nod

That wakes the seed that takes its lead from the whisper of God

© Janet Martin