Spring Chill
I feel under the grey,
cold grey all over me.
I search around as I may
for any colour to see.
Across the grass chilled spring
is tipped by blossom, pink
prunus makes my soul sing.
Blue squill forges a link,
a link to a warmer scene
of summer with blue skies,
gentle winds that will mean
coming of butterflies.
But now I'm wrapped and capped
and dreaming with yearning.
Copyright © Lisle Ryder | Year Posted 2018
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