the years sprint, sail, drift, fly —
days melt into sleep
decades we no longer know
by taste or smell, yes
but hard fast memories tend not to keep —
youth lives on — yet, is long gone
birds chirp each spring anew
but our hearts sing the same shades
of childhood colors we once knew
seasons
Moonlit plum tree
the moon and plum tree
make flow’ry springtime shadows—
lovers of the night
Outlines of joy
February is the border between winter and spring.
It’s a dry heat streak
full moon monsoon clouds
glow pale light through windy trees
parched leaves shadow dance
Anticipation
It’s peeking round the corner
Playing hide and seek
I see its icy fingers
A frost’d rosy cheek
Days fall ever shorter
Autumn’s air is chilling
Warmth no longer lingers
Wild things are stilling
April morning
My favorite weather is bird-chirping weather.
P.S. Thank you to everyone who let me know about USA Today and King Features Syndicate using this for their April 18th Cryptoquote.
Vernal ode to euphony
nests bustling in leafy trees
eggs cracking open tenderly
vernal music on the breeze
excitement buzzing busily
tree roots drinking merrily
underground working tirelessly
restless flowers pacing weeds
manufacturing aromatherapies
reds purples yellows greens
poppies blooming endlessly!
Stragglers
bird alights on branch
mottled-lit golden leaves fall
drifting like feathers
Deciduous
just like trees
my life is a mix—
seasonal change
and evergreen
Looking forward
If winter wrote an autobiography, it would be mostly about the spring.
Glorious
imagine how many glorious winters and springs
the stars from their celestial perches have seen—
Edging out
Seasons depart peripherally.
Icy gaze
owls fierce in summer
are fiercer yet in winter —
it’s mating season