It’s almost here
that time of year
when seasons change
The ground
takes off her wedding gown
exposing brown and green
a faded green awaits the sun
for now, she sleeps
while seedlings stretch and yawn
her child-lings yet to be
And gentle wisps of moving air
will jostle stubborn leaves
Like teacups on the sodden grass
they fill with sugar snow
and yet the sun,
though cold and vague,
shows dusty falling flakes
Here and there their contrast shows
against the hedge’s row.
On the tops of cedar tips,
the early spring remains
just out of reach
and white still grips the fingertips
of tender growing trees.

by Diane E. Dockum

© April 1, 2022