Hopes for Spring
The tailor made a brace of bones.
In it he placed a child's toy.
A lark rose from the briar, alive with bright voice.
The wind left its mark on the vine.
Over the hill clouds made brief statues.
Small crosses of shadow plowed the grass.
Among the trees, a few in bud, brightness.
Snowdrop and early crocus, wedded.
In it he placed a child's toy.
A lark rose from the briar, alive with bright voice.
The wind left its mark on the vine.
Over the hill clouds made brief statues.
Small crosses of shadow plowed the grass.
Among the trees, a few in bud, brightness.
Snowdrop and early crocus, wedded.
Labels: poem
posted by Art Durkee at 12:37 AM
2 Comments:
I like this very much. Thank you.
Thanks very much in return, Matt.
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