Spring

I breathe the air
with frost
upon its edge

and smell
the pledge of
warming earth
instead.

And here,
behind the whisper
of the wind,

a melody begins
to sing of
spring.

I am the smile
that bursts
about my
face,

with eyes that brighten
to the early trace
of crocus-sprout

and robins
on the
wing,

and wave farewell
to winter's
bickering.







Pamela A. Lamppa
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