Sense-ations

The roof-tops touch the sky

The sky grazes the street

And in each snowflake skimming by

I sense the dance of feet

The pine-tree minstrel plays

Soft, spectral violins

And in the serenade it splays

I sense a song of grins

Winter’s rowdy rogues brawl

On plush and pulsing seams

Where, even in the thickest squall

I sense the rush of streams

This tantrum none can quell

Or tame the tempest's will

Yet on the wild and frigid fell

I sense a daffodil

White, rolls the countryside

White tolls most ev’rything

Still, even in this white-world wide

I sense the green of spring

© Janet Martin