Lure of Spring
Spring rain
Flings like seeds at my window
In the dawn, Awakening
Auburn horses neighing from the barn
While Gold Finches are scarred lemons
Half-ripe
Filling a bush, Singing
Release me
Leaves of trees budding
Clenched baby fists holding away the cold
Lime glow
Its own light mint
A man walks with pail and pole to the river
For the little fish that shiver
In the last splashes of silver coins
Casting a lure of first light.
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