Icicle fingers
Icicle fingers
Springs Most bountiful Blend
Springs Most bountiful Blend
I'll miss my wood fires
I'll miss my wood fires
Springs grand parade
Springs grand parade
The Goddess Of Spring
The Goddess Of Spring


Old man

Winter he



icicle fingers

while Spring

gently wings her

way high

over trees

as she graces

the freeze

where young

buds soon

will be


green leaves.


Every Crocus

will lurch as

their fresh

tendrils search

beneath hard

frozen earth

for thier moment

of birth.

~\|/~~~\|/ ~~\|/~~~\|/

Their tiniest

shoots stretching

out restless roots

in eager pursuits

of thier soft

pastel suits

as the

snowfall dilutes.


Though I'll

miss my

wood fires

as these chill

winds retire

past my chimney

spire in it's

burnt red

attire that

belches out

smoke from

the hard woods

I stoke,

Now it's sun

I desire



I am weary 

of white


endlessly bright,


in sunlight

till road dust

and exhaust,

spread thier

charcoal across

endless drifts

plows have tossed,

till the beauty

is lost.


All of this

I will trade

for a hammock

and shade,

watching Springs

grand parades

on my criss-crossed

rope braids.

Cabin fever

assails me,

bitter icy winds

jail me,

and the winter

sun pales me,

let green fields

cure what ails me.


Let this

hiatus end,

bring back

my greatest friend,

melt what

Jack Frost

has penned,

as bright

tulips extend

thier most

bountiful blends.


Lord, bring Spring

hear my prayer,

with elation

I'll bear,




days filled

with rains

all those tears

skies will shed,

when old winter

falls dead.



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Comments 2 comments

poetlorraine 6 years ago

very well written, bravo

Micky Dee profile image

Micky Dee 6 years ago

It (winter) had another "stab" yesterday. Brrr!

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