Edging Spring

Edging Spring

We issue small blasphemies
when weather palls, changing from what we 
prefer to rain or to sunshine,
perhaps to snow, peculiarities
of cloud casting gloom, or this
stark light on a wet road.

Our skin likes the weather it likes,
drawn in, mingling with our blood
and the windlessness of pulse.
So how, then, can we somehow mind 
when Spring edges it's white lines of crocus
beside the salted roads,
sparrows foraging for twigs,
a confusion of pigeons dancing? 
Categorized as Poems

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s