Morning Poem, March 12, 2018

 

This late snow hangs heavy on branches and buds.

Last evening we opened the windows

And caught the aroma of coming spring.

This morning’s white world makes us remember

January and clotted roads.

By noon all will be gone

In its place only mud and soggy turf

Reminding us again

That seasons are only a breath.

 

copyright 2018

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