Starved For Spring
I stood at the juncture between two seasons,
Listening to northbound Snow geese overhead.
The skein of geese cut across the cold blue horizon.
Frost sparkled in the morning’s light
On every pale blade of grass,
And each barren branch.
The garden plot lay deep in winter’s slumber
But along the pasture’s edge,
Between two lone trees,
The air was alive with notes and trills.
Harbingers of spring,
Two red-winged blackbirds called,
Testing this dawn of Spring.
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