Had he called in summer,
she might have warmed at first
to the sound of his voice,
but would have accurately anticipated the after burn.
she would have landed
both feet on the ground,
strong as an oak whose leaves have long vacated the premises.
her heart deep in hibernation
resolve solid as ice,
she would have pulled her layers around her and dreamed on.
But here’s the thing:
he called in spring.
Shared over at Open Link Monday at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads:
yeah, love it and that final simple rhyme is just perfect.
Oh my my… He called in Spring.
I love the idea behind this poem, and the build up to those final lines was so good.
That ending is amazing, De… really, I love this!
I like the seasonal images…very creative take on spring. Thanks for sharing this at Real Toads ~
uh huh. don’t they always!
And thank heaven for that. The way you worded those opening lines was great, the power and finesse to call in the seasons…..and now batting clean-up…great write
Your confidence makes me nervous. (!) I know. I don’t get it either.
This was a perfect pirouette of a poem. NVS again, Mosk 🙂