Waiting In the Wings
Sunlight weaves between the
bones of skeletal trees.
And a web of shadows
dance with each feisty breeze.
A silver sky shimmers
like cheap carnival glass.
Yet, the fickle sunlight's
too weak to free the grass.
As snow accumulates,
bare branches almost break.
Bowing 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.
But I can almost smell
the flowers that Spring brings.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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