In Anticipation of Spring: A Poetic Journal
January 26th
Winter robins feast in branches above frozen ground,
it was frigid last night, but crab apples still abound.
They congregate as the sun warms their food,
chirping and fluttering, in a good mood.
The call for poems lifts my spirits today,
a chance to share a new story in a Spring way.
The excitement builds, although there is doubt,
because I lack Spring thoughts to write about.
February 2nd:
Each morn during the time between darkness and dawn,
rabbits hop on the snow atop dormant lawn.
Outside of my window, beneath the crabapple,
they nibble on fruit in nature’s predawn chapel.
They take no notice of me, inside my cage
who like them is tired of winter’s frozen stage.
Winters in the Carver valley are long and tough.
I sympathize with bunnies. Spring can't come soon enough!
February 21st:
‘Tis once a year that these robins make merry
on the magic nectar of a crabapple berry.
Their over-indulgence leads to actions demented
for the fruit has become naturally fermented.
Bellies become bloated, stuffed with hard-cider fruit,
other birds in nearby trees await their pursuit.
They only take berries to their liking and perfection,
the snow becomes littered with apples of rejection.
March 2nd:
My pen has been idle, I’m stuck in bed,
a test reveals that Covid invades my head.
It’s hard to ponder the first breath of Spring,
when I’m tired all day and can’t smell a thing.
From within my cage, as comfortable as it may be,
I sit near the blinds, and through them I see
birds flying to and from the crabapple tree.
It seems to me; they are the ones truly free.
March 6th:
It’s enjoyable enough, babysitting an infant again,
but I cannot hold my grand baby and work a pen.
Pulling on my neck skin is one of her new delights;
eyes chase and follow as she takes in the sights.
Another day gray, complete with frozen dew.
Nothing to say, nor to write, there isn’t even a clue.
Anxiety builds, two weeks to deadline
Spring thoughts evade, I need a poetic lifeline.
March 18th:
Finally, it strikes! A poem about our new grandchild,
for each breath will be new as a babe in the wild!
When this Spring finally arrives with rain and thunder,
we’ll experience renewal together, in awe and wonder.
The crabapple tree will be captured while in full bloom;
I'll tell her stories of blossoms and magical perfume.
We will watch the robins fly and hear them sing,
and bask in the joy, our first breath of Spring.
