April's Last Day
A Poem
As April creeps closer
to May’s spring splendor
forests awaken and
hesitant tree buds
open as if their leaves
choose to peek first.
The morning sun melts
the season’s last frost
into sparkling dew drops
as a lone Bradford
pear tree shimmies
in breezy gusts
shedding its white blossoms
like falling snow.
At day’s end a waxing
gibbous moon rises
impatiently above
the horizon and glows
like a ghostly shadow
to greet May’s first day.
Thank you Ross, for the restack. If I’d had your gift for rhyme, I’d write about spring in an ancient context as if I were a druid.
Good morning Frederick, a lovely sensitive poem, I feel your warmth like the spring light shining upon my face as I sip morning coffee on the porch. Have a wonderful day, Geraldine