White sleep melts, abrading,
bright plumage parading,
stark against the azure skies.
Slowly even winter dies.
Wings of waking birds thrumming,
the threnody of insects humming.
Sparrows in the grass
pecking at a fresh repast.
Long-tailed meadowlark’s fluting song
seems to hasten the sun along.
Cotton curtains waving intermittently
they come and go unbidden, free.
Tender shoots emerge
in defiance of the fading dirge.
Robin blue eggs in mother’s care.
Clean crispness in the air.
The brooks remain in shadow
where they empty in the meadow
having run down from the hills
snowmelt moving swift and chill.
~
M. Zane McClellan
~
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