Spring Songs
After
February’s late-winter blast,
Junipers
bend weighted with ice.
Pine
trees stand crusted with snow.
A
cold, black train whistles in the distance.
Just in time March sings an overture.
Robins
sport jaunty orange breasts,
Woodpeckers
drum on hollow trunks,
Redbirds
flame singing on wires.
Then, April glides in like a debutante.
Bluebells
blanket forest floors,
Purple
phlox dine with Lilacs,
Forsythia
flashes robes of yellow glory.
But none of this could be without March:
singer
of first things, whose purpose is
to
show, take a bow, then be forgotten.
After
retiring from a 48-year career in the printing industry in 2013, Michael
Escoubas began writing poetry for publication. His study of and interest in
poetry goes back some 30 years. During this time he studied classical and
modern poets learning from their works and from critics who comment about them.
Michael writes poetry in part because his mother once said, “You have a gift
for words; you should do something with that gift.”
Michael,
ReplyDeleteThis is beautifully written. I love it!
Your friend,
David Fox
Beautiful imagery!
ReplyDeleteA literal potpourri of so much I hold dear...
ReplyDeleteThank you David, Martha, and Michael--this encouragement means so much especially, coming as it does, from accomplished poets, like you.
ReplyDeleteMichael,
ReplyDeleteWhat a surprise to see your poem here tonight. And such interesting images. I really like March--show, bow, and then be forgotten.
Well done, my friend.
What a blessing, Jo.
ReplyDeleteJust love the way poetry and poems have a way of bringing people together. Together and whole is how I feel in the world of Whispers.
Thank you.