Monday, February 14, 2011

A Different March

I sit by the window
regarding the blackened bougainvillea,
comatose hibiscus and ruined roses,
my foot drumming to the beat
of a different March.

Not Sousa or Strauss,
but the pulse of an impatient Spring,
bulging with color and perfume and life,
eager to repair winter’s destruction.

* * *

1 comment:

  1. I hate to see the winter go, but the spring is rather nice too. Nice poem! It was a great idea linking the coming of the spring with classical music. It makes sense.


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