The snow was still falling in April
when May caught fire.
(night being that dream between there and now),
the wind had stopped working out,
had laid down its weights
and sat upon the ground to hover and relax.
Occasional storms scattered the hours;
then a more gentle rain sewed them back together
on its pearly stings of beads.
Do we recall the time it took; each calendar day,
or was it the mind that made that transition
while we were otherwise distracted,
engaged in the slippery slide of
Yet here it is, that shower of May blossoms
we knew would come, even predicted,
yet the surprise is all the sweeter
appearing as it does just on the edge
of an April snow fall.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment