Mud heaves back blankets
of worn snow, stretches,
then belly-belches
the tang of dog turds.
Then Spring rises, pulls on
a fresh shirt
of buds and blue sky,
yawns, and sends the sap
swelling, hearts searching.
Rituals of love:
Trill or squawk
Look at me
pheasants chase
Hey, choose me
mallards hiss
She is mine
starlings wear
their very best
mating feathers
Hey, baby,
ain't I fine?
The fuse ignites
creating life.
From Love's promise,
dead forests green.
And we feel it too,
this rising Easter,
fresh hope in our veins.
Photo is mine.
2 comments:
oh that male pheasant looks very smart!
Lovely poem too, the birds are all flirting and courting here too
Happy Easter!
Spring is a season when everything and everyone feels the juices flowing. A wonderful energizing time.
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