I deftly move,
In awe of bruising the hyacinths,
Peeking from behind the night curtains.
Days linger on the threshold,
Coy and unspoken.
I’d welcome them,
Yet at a loss for embraces,
Loud whispers wither their spirit.
No greed.
No anticipation.
Only the shadow dangling
Between then and today.
Winter comes at dawn,
Reclaiming her tribute
Of warmth and promise.
I have none.
Deceit triumphs once again
And the violet companions
Smile behind the frost flowers
On my sea ice of a heart.
Imagine the weather forecast presented by Edgar Allan Poe.The changing of the seasons is metamorphosed here into something with a motive and purpose.
Thank you, again. Your generous words make me blush, again.