Promises
Sunshine drifted through the marred pane;
Diffused, wavering, casting shadows in the room,
Wandering through the corners and the closet.
Spring arrived suddenly in this prairie land,
Melting dirty piles of old snow,
Turning farmyards into sloppy mires of mud.
Fresh air rushed into the old barn
Raising small, golden bits of last year’s hay,
Bringing tears to the man milking the black and white cow.
Lilacs sat upon the dinner table that night,
Lingering scent on the hands of the old woman who cut them;
Promising winter is now behind.
Copyright © Deb Radke | Year Posted 2011
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