The swallows and falcons
are out of their shells.
The sky has more wings now.
Spring bounds around -
the foals' long legs
kick up meadow buttercups.
If I were younger,
if I were stronger,
If I were lither,
I would roll in the hayfield,
and not worry a bit
about straw in my hair.
Categories:
lither, poetry,
Form: Free verse