Thursday, March 10, 2011

The last leg of winter

Spring Will Come

Spring will come despite the rain—
wild mustard and garlic a tangled skein
of yellow and white; forget-me-nots
on hillsides and in puddling ruts
misting in drifts of blue.

Mothwing petals sift past quince,
blooming bare-branched beneath
the plumed plum. Despite the rain,
despite the pain—or is it from,
or through? Prepositions don’t matter;
spring will come.

Rebecca Foust  

Have a great day with a new smile filled with promise of renewal.



Zuzana said...

Beautiful poem - and yes it snowed here yesterday too.;))
Have a lovely day dear Elizabeth,

karen said...

I am always sad when winter has passed, it's my favourite season.

Anneli/Bockfilz said...

Lovely words and a lovely photo ...

Yes, I'm longing for spring now too - so very much indeed.