Staggered but Singing <br /> <br />March snow, a dirty melt to squelching mud. <br />The haunting cheep of peepers trilling the night. <br />Cusp of foolish, fickle April with warm sun. <br />Cool breeze harping bare, flailing branches. <br /> <br />Nervous energy of restless exultation <br />spilling like wine over a glass rim— <br />like toasting a near-lost friend <br />not seen over the past rueful year. <br /> <br />Memories of slush-filled roads, <br />ice burdened trees, fallen poles and wires, <br />candles in the dark, the dead tap, <br />storm lashed and broken window panes. <br /> <br />Wood stove still glowing red coals, <br />but a sense of ease beginning to awaken <br />at sight of a bumblebee attending purple crocus, <br />snowbells silently waving white in the wind. <br /> <br />To arrive at one more confusing spring <br />makes the folly of life worth living. <br />Like a worm blindly squirming to light, <br />I awake from dreams to sharpen my pencil.<br /><br />Kevin T McEneaney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/staggered-but-singing/
