Waiting In The Wing
Sunbeams weave in between
twigs of skeletal trees.
And a web of shadows
dance with each feisty breeze.
A silver sky shimmers
like cheap carnival glass.
And a fickle sun is
too weak for blades of grass.
Snow accumulates on
branches that crack and break.
And bow down to the ground
with the weight of each flake.
Sugar maples run dry
not even one sweet drip.
And snowmen aren’t melting
frozen in Winter's grip.
Spring's not on stage just yet
she's waiting in the wing.
And I can hardly wait
for the flowers She’ll bring.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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