March Mosaic...

The snow recedes leaving the impression of earth at low tide...

The girth of earth is brown with mud and mirth of winter’s waning tide

A modest panoramic sweep of mute and matted countryside

The joy of expectation poised on thatched patchwork of bronze and brass

Waits at a gate with baited breath for innocence of soft green grass

The dark wind wails and wakes the wand of pussy-willow pillowed fronds

Where rusty reeds like ragamuffins shiver in ditches and ponds

The bashful bud begins to stir beneath the whisper of a dream

And hope makes dreamers of us all where winter has run out of steam

© Janet Martin