by Rick D. Maloy
Drip, drip, trickle, melt
icicles are in retreat,
White fades to gray, to brown, then sprouts green
amid the soft, misty-blue haze of spring.
The air's a blend of dusty, earthy scents
as the land casts off its heavy, rumpled coat,
The Cardinal and Chickadee sing a more hopeful tune
as moods and eyes lift from their dreary doldrums.
The hours increase, as the sun waxes golden
sending gloves and galoshes to their darkened, summer homes,
Yards of matted rye and fescue breathe deep and arise
soon outpacing even the daffodil's reach for the sky.
As the Ides approaches, the overcast cracks
clearing the canvas for Cumulus mounts,
All dreams of white have been answered
and washed away with the raindrops of spring.