The idea of this poem started the other day
while soaking up some much-coveted rare sunshine...
Soon, soon the barren tree will burst and be barren no more...
Soon gardens, fantasy-immersed will brim with hymn and chore...
Soon backdrops white, like canvases showcasing stencil-art
Will roll like emerald oceans to where earth and heavens part...
And living rooms will spill to patios and balconies...
As words like ‘b-r-r-r’ and ‘with-wind-chill’ will turn to memories...
Soon finches will wear gold again instead of dull chartreuse...
(It seems for every snow-storm we get this winter
a mild spell follows to keep the drifts from getting too massive,
and constantly teasing us with thoughts of spring
)
![](https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tea/1/16/1f970.png)
Soon, soon the barren tree will burst and be barren no more
Soon gardens, fantasy-immersed will brim with hymn and chore
Soon backdrops white, like canvases showcasing stencil-art
Will roll like emerald oceans to where earth and heavens part
And living rooms will spill to patios and balconies
As words like ‘b-r-r-r’ and ‘with-wind-chill’ will turn to memories
Soon finches will wear gold again instead of dull chartreuse
And though we will be older then, we will feel more footloose
After we trade our parkas for the longed-for luxury
Of soaking in the sunshine or in shade beneath a tree
As daffodils with yellow, ruffled frills spilling spring’s mirth
A-dapple hills and dells from legacies held in the earth
Soon indoor tasks will wrangle with flasks welkin, zephyr-kissed
And set at odds the law and order of the to-do list
And winter will slip from its perch with every drip and drop
Where now we slip and slide and lurch and honk and hope we stop
Where now we sip slow cups of java and traverse the world
On parchment schooners, into sagas, page by page unfurled
Soon the gray-drenched duvet that drapes dusk’s dormant countryside
Will flush into a blossom-blushing dew-brushed eventide
And we will pause, perhaps, to marvel at how swift time flies
Through winter, now a sparkle on the landscape of spent sighs
...where hues that brood in wait for spring have rent bud-gates to soar
And stir the barren tree to sing and be barren no more
© Janet Martin
Soon winter will fly away like a blue jay
with beak full of peanut😂
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!