Thursday, March 25, 2010


Was it not a short day ago
That summer greens
Were softly subdued
Surrendering to ebony hands
And its somber demands
Merely subtle traces
Of golden laughter
On white-washed sands
Before the red arm
And the grey
Stole it all away
Taunting echoes
In the dell
An icy shrine
To a private shell
Of tarnished wishes
But as I lift my eyes
I beheld to my surprise
A hint of green
Where a few short days ago
Was I not seen
Burying my heart
In the snow?
Yet I saw it dance
Across the lawn
A minute ago

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

I was sitting on my porch early
this morning, drinking my coffee
and it seemed so surreal that a
whole winter had passed since I
last sat there.

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