Like the creek not far from my home, the poems have been flowing! Not that they’re always welcome, say if it’s early morning and words fly into my head. Must I really wake enough, reach for my notebook and write them down? Oh well. I suppose so. Seeing as another couple of lines are now ringing — a Musey alarm clock??
As dear daughter who claims to be ‘powered by poetry’ gifted me with this notebook,
saying I was unlikely to mislay it (!), I reach for the pen, click it, and start to write:
EARLY SPRING
Bare branches, gilded by the risen sun,
sway in the freezing breeze, and wonder:
when will spring come?
Budding catkins, tinged with red,
await the seasons’ change to warmth.
Then at last they’ll celebrate —
hang dangly earrings
to decorate and demonstrate
the sweet, surging sap of resurrected maple.