The Coming
The bitter cold
releases its grip and
the earth smiles, tickled
by the silent spread of ice crystals
turned soggy and soaking deep into
the yellow brown shards of grass long
given up to husks that hug and protect the
surface of dirt and rocks and seeds and roots
the sullen crust that will soon give rise to a mat
of sprouting green blades tangled with ragwort and
butterweed to blanket the vast expanse of rolling hills
summoning the mice and moles, the larva that explode into
butterflies and bull frogs and mosquitoes as the robins, blue jays
and hawks scoop up mouthful day after sparkling day, embraced by
the air resplendent with a potpourri of intoxicating smells that banish
all memories of bleak winter days and long frigid nights to the moment
when the lingering light gives promise that spring is almost here at last
3 thoughts on "The Coming"
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This poem has such an awesome shape, made better by the ease of the lines that grow on the page. Nothing is forced, and the word choice to extend next thoughts a little longer keep the poem feeling fresh and natural. Impressive work.
Oh! Yes I agree with Philip.
All of what he said.
It is one long exhale of wonder.
Beautiful poem.
Thank you for your comments Philip and Coleman. I love “nothing is forced” and “one long exhale of wonder”!