Happy Easter
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5
there's not much to say
we are inching our way
toward the Spring Equinox
under deep blue skies
filled with piping robins
and scattered pale pink blossoms
across the greening garden
lift up your voice and sing
searching for that missing hour
takes too much time.
I give myself pardon
for my mis-deeds
which might have occurred
in that phantom hour.
when all along, I was wandering
in a birdsong soaked garden
feet bared, dew drenched
not the least bit concerned
with changing clocks or
saving time.
SPRING!
resinous scent rising
incense of pine straw
and memory
Crossett with the Allen clan
***Olfactory memory resides in the depths of who we are. The smell of pine immediately takes me to my grandparent’s small town deep in the piney woods of S.E.Arkansas. That and the acrid whiff of paper mills.
deep in the waking woods
pale froth of white appears
service berry in bloom
cold rain taps lightly
on my morning window
keeping time with robins piping song
how Earth responds
to Her true turning toward East
and Spring's returning
tulips glow in the blue jug
against walls, pear and faded aquamarine
first beacon of Spring
holding sunlight
in yellow petals