Winter Spawns Spring’s Dream


chill of wind’s invisible fingers covers
dry skin in goose pimples,
shivers woven into frostbitten thoughts
in a winter indulging
in reverie like a wizened old man
rocking on vague armchair introspections.

myopic, frost-beaded windows
peer at barren moments of january,
snowflakes falling like
shattered, stained-glass fragments
of a frozen rainbow stolen
from august’s mixed feeling skies,
while the colorless gardens
await in anticipation of graffiti spring.

daffodils and snowdrops
hibernate beneath silences of soil,
waiting to blossom into perfumed whispers
heralding spring’s carnival,
with chilled feet and cold-numbed fingers
and a burgeoning hope fluttering
in anticipation within my womb
like butterflies’ wings~

which etches my cheeks in blushes
I await the arrival of spring
and the feeling of motherhood,
like a rain-filled conch shell
awaiting the birth of a pearl.


4 thoughts on “Winter Spawns Spring’s Dream

  1. This was wondrous and rich from start to finish. You have painted the seasons with magic and potency. I read it and I felt like I was being challenged, or, more like, invited, to open my eyes more, feel more, put myself out there more. What a beautiful world, the one that surrounds you.

    Keep flowing. You have a lovely, lovely gift here.

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