We garner momentous whispers
While the days to seasons blur
Bud breaks, flower blooms then withers
Winter turns to gossamer
We collect to heart-shaped pages
Bitter and sweet adjectives
In the ‘meanwhile’ that engages
Hands and feet with objectives
We gather the grin-and-bear-it
With the favorite fair and fond
Where all too soon we inherit
Echoes wafting from felled frond
Morning breaks the bud that blushes
From first pulses to full bloom
Where the dash of moments crushes
Murmurs falling from its plume
Poetry is pressed from petals
Where the hour-flower falls
Like ink-drops its mettle settles
In permanent madrigals
© Janet Martin
...although the wind still has some bite in it,
today's bud was a little less frosted than yesterday morning's white surprise
blooming beneath white skies!
...although the wind still has some bite in it,
today's bud was a little less frosted than yesterday morning's white surprise
blooming beneath white skies!
