Waiting In The Wings
Sunlight scampers between,
the twigs of naked trees.
And a web of shadows,
dance with each feisty breeze.
A silver sky shimmers,
like cheap carnival glass.
And yet, this fickle Sun's
too weak for blades of grass.
Snow accumulates on
branches that bend and break.
And bow low to the ground
with the weight of each flake.
Sugar maple sap stalls,
not even one sweet drip.
And snowmen aren't melting,
frozen in Winter's grip.
Spring's not on stage quite yet,
She's waiting in the wings.
And I can almost smell
the wildflowers She brings.
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