Where is Spring, the growing season?
The sun’s still hidden, full of treason.
I see buds, a green tinge on trees,
But winter yet has a hold on me.
The skies are gray when they should be blue.
My shoulders shiver without a clue.
I bundle up. What shall I do?
The bluebonnets quiver beneath the soil.
“Shall we come up or have we been foiled?”
Will winter stay ‘til summer’s heat,
And seasons pass without Spring’s beat.
I crave the sunshine wrapped ‘round my soul,
The light spring breeze that greets the foal,
The embrace of sunrays rousing me.
That is where I want to be.
Image by Sergiy Bykhunenko © 2016 by Sandra Fox Murphy. All rights reserved.