For Emile Pinet's "Sonnet Lipogram Poetry Contest about Spring"
Spring's whispers were present in the brisk night promises of blooms mid summerlike skies Yet winter's snowy white colors my sight Could those promises be only her guise? I long for endless nights to quickly end though I own no quibble with the white moon but on Spring and birdsong we do depend; in this stillness, there is no lovely tune. Spring does seem very unmindful of time nor do freezing breezes stir her desire for flowers blooming in sun shining clime What does one do to light the stubborn fire? Could it be spring is but choosing to hide, or is this some version of Spring Untried? April 3, 2024
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