The Rites



Spring used to be such spinning

April’s brimming light beginning

boldly bursting into May !


A carnival display that had me rolling in the hay.


But now, noting the quiet daily charm

of crocuses unfolding and exquisite

tender green upon the trees –


My fantasies fly not to fevered heights

but fix upon a holy sort of chore:


A sturdy broom and steady arms to sweep

the shrivelled brown of winter from my door.


Categories: Poetry

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