The bric-a-brac of breaking bud laces dull limb at last
We dare to dream of mornings unencumbered by ice-cast
Rain-song rushes in minute rivers down the windowpane
The farmer’s step is buoyant now by thoughts of golden grain
For long, too long the fallow lay ensconced in frozen tomb
Until April delivers warmer wishes to earth’s room
There is something quite unrivaled in the attitude of spring
Its stirs the seed in umber deep and wakes our hearts to
sing
As earth laughs, ready to embark upon the green and gold
Of dandelions in the park and violet fronds to hold
For long, too long she suffered ‘neath the vexing fingertips
Of Old Man Winter’s gruff caress and purple puckered lips
Our daydreams rush ahead of feet to picnic’s by the creek
Lovers and lunatics alike spill fancies cheek to cheek
A drive ‘neath cherry-blossom trees perhaps or strolling
lanes
Of daisy-dappled ditches, wave-washed beaches, grass
terrains
For long, too long we floundered knee-deep in the offering
Of Old Man Winter’s happiness before the kiss of spring
Mouths cannot keep from grinning though the sky weeps tears of
gray
We know the flowers in its showers are not far away
Where perfect afternoons unfold in sunbeam symphony
And nobody is very old beneath hope’s azure sea
For long, too long we have been entertained by raw requiem
April is the harbinger to those days of which we dream…
© Janet Martin
