I Was Born In Spring

I was born
in the spring of the year—
a New England spring,
that comes only with reluctance—
a damp, gray chill
that clings to its pewter skies
and blustery winds,
unwilling to yield its frigid grip—

until the day,
that day in the middle of May
when I drew my first breath on this planet—
a breath of gentle air, perfumed with the heady scent of lilacs,
where triumphal shafts of blessed sunlight
bathed a world gushing with the birth waters
of a greening, bursting, exuberant earth,
trumpeting her joy in a torrent of birdsong.

I was born
in the spring of the year—
and even in the snowy silence
of a New England winter,
I shelter within myself
the glorious fragrance
of petals unfolding.

birthdayspringfree verse

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John Howard

May 24, 2023 at 6:17 PM

Katherine: After having read 16 of your pieces, and some reread, and others read over the past months, I can only say you are a very gifted poet, and I so appreciate your work. A New-be to the Soup.

John Howard

May 20, 2023 at 4:29 PM

As a new member of poetry soup and a long term “hobby” poet while I pay the bills other ways, I am so appreciative of your ability to create word paintings seen in our mind and felt in heart and soul. Cheers, John Rogers Howard, New Englander now retired on Casio Bay.