April after a winter mildly cold,
With neither blizzards or dangerous ice.
The blossoms burst early and gently bold,
Aerating my back yard with perfumed spice.
A sudden drop in temperature,
Lasting a day, is not enough to nip
New life — an hour of light snow seems pure,
Yet leaves on some blossoms a tiny pip.
Then a week of cloudless sunlight reigns.
Snowdrops and crocuses proliferate,
Escaping from their gardens to the lawns.
Now for an hour most mornings it rains,
More to refresh us than to irritate.
The sleeping soul doesn’t awake — it dawns.
My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:
My Human Disguise.
My Human Disguise.
