April Aria

Poem-a-day challenge day 12:write a counting poem and/or not counting poem.

Thy fronds that spill in daffodil...

Last year the daffodils were in full bloom...

this year's much cooler April has mustered a few brave shoots

thy ponds, a turquoise jewel

Ah, let me count the ways I love thee, April afternoon

Thy undulating clouds above me, earth's bestirring boon...

(Sunday afternoon showcased a strange ring around the sun)

Ah, let me count the ways I love thee, April afternoon

Thy undulating clouds above me, earth's bestirring boon

Where bulb and bud and muddy garden fuel flower-dreams

With autographs of winter's pardon bursting at thy seams

Goldfinch, a dapper fellow in his new yellow physique 

Thy warmer windsong tuning willow-cellos by the creek

And laughter, glorious laughter after winter wends away 

Ripples to heaven's rafter with a happy hip-hooray

Thy blue and bronze, thy timid green, thy moody ebb and flow

Like love, when it is torn between holding and letting go 

Like life, where though sunshine is sweet a little rain must fall

Like ten-thousand tap-dancer's feet at earth's coming-out ball 

Thy newborn lamb, thy cooing dove, thy wooing wink and grin 

Ah, let me count the ways I love the way you kiss my skin

And let me leave my sweater on the chair beside my book

While you and I together wander by the winding brook 

...to look for mint and marigold emerging in the silt 

To watch Mother Nature unfold earth's blanket like a quilt

To listen to the swishing of her brisk and busy broom

Teasing the people fishing beneath thy leaf-threaded loom

Ah, let me count the ways that thrill; thy temp'ramental duel  

Thy fronds that spill in daffodil, thy ponds, a turquoise jewel

Thy orchestras that trill and fill dawn's dark with joy renewed

The way you stay the course until winter's chill is subdued

 

Thy sense of baited breath before the curtain-rise; the cheers

That thunder where we waited; from death's guise life reappears 

Thy mission undeterred by Old Man Winter's farewell flings

I love the way the heart is stirred; hope sings and sings and sings 

   © Janet Martin