Leaves tremble in the slightest of breeze, like a tea cup in the hand of an old man. Mizzle, drizzle drips, drips from cloudy sky were wisp of fog swirls in a creative dance.
Spring rains bring a melancholy mood, except for the wiggly, squiggly worms who stretch high about earth to moisten their tight skin, like slathering cream on wrinkles.
Birds nestled deep, deep in fresh nests covering, hovering atop precious young; eggs intact waiting to hatch and one day fledge like all our young will also do.
What silly, willy nonsense runs through a poet’s mind on dreary, dreamy days? Lilacs know as their sweet syrupy scent drift in empty spaces; to enjoy a moment in time.
It’s been a long few weeks of Covid. I’m tired, but my brain seems to want to see the best of the things around me. I’ve written kid’s poetry in the past. This is dedicated to the young writer. 😉
Patti Wolf 