As I poem-sketch, ice-rain pelts the windowpane...
I’d pry flowers from your fist
Meadows mint-green, dawn dew-kissed
If I could I would untwist
Hills swathed in silk-amethyst
I’d tie ribbons to the breeze
Violet-scented melodies
Purple and la crème pansies
Like Spring’s fair, best-dressed ladies
I’d fling petals to the air
Plush, like a pink teddy bear
If I could, oh, I would dare
To find winter’s wild-wind lair
I’d dance barefoot while gales blow
Disguising the undertow
Of hills white with daisy-snow
Where spring-winter ebbs and flows
I’d try to persuade the sky
To be blue-eyed like July
If I could I would defy
Those pebbles that pelt my sigh
If I could I would design
Buds half-grinning on a vine
Where the world waits for its prime
Betwixt spring and winter time
© Janet Martin
