Spring Cleaning
While mopping the melted snow of winter.
I remember when I got a splinter.
My expression cringing.
My finger twinging.
But still I reminisce.
Of the fireplace’s caress.
While dusting the places usually never seen.
I remember being-
Next to a draft.
Feeling bereft.
Wishing for spring.
Not seeing-
Flowers that bloom.
Feeling like I’m in a tomb.
But nowadays I slip from my mopping.
Dust flying and never stopping.
I miss being lazy.
Even when it was hazy.
But then I open a window.
And love for spring rekindles.
Soon summer will come around.
Then I’ll miss the smell of spring that abounds.
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