I didn’t see them, clouds too thick
But geese flew over, calling and I ran out quick
But not a sign above- only the sound
Of children in the school playground
Hockey’s out and skipping’s in
And teachers can’t keep discipline
For Spring is here. The sound of melting snow
trickling and flowing down the street although
The city’s very dirty. All the nasty secrets
All laid bare in the back lane and in our street
I hear Filomena’s clothesline creak and wonder
surely she’s not hanging out her clothes just yet.
The air is still too fresh and almost wet. But still
here comes the robin that I’ve waited for so long,
waited to hear him chivy me to hear his song
so like a clear and pure flute note.
singing to his mate a longing sweet love note
If winter was our poison, here at last, the antidote
Love this.
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thank you, Sweetie. Just keeping up with poor Spring, draggling in
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I liked this. more so because I have sat in that back garden.
I passed the geese pond on the south shore, west of Three Rivers yesterday. it was quite full.
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Poetry can clothe even the emerging garbage of our city with grace and hope.
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