I look to spring when forsythias bloom;
greens are the buds until yellow appears.
Nature creates to embattle the gloom.
When winter ebbs I reach for the red broom; gravel collects near the steps o’er the years.
I look to spring when forsythias bloom.
Sorrow sits idly in a dark room;
silky and cold are the copious tears.
Nature creates to embattle the gloom.
Yet idle stasis remains full of doom;
it is a serpent engendering fears.
I look to spring when forsythias bloom.
Spring is a bride and yours truly the groom;
from the back porch verdant beauty appears.
Nature creates to embattle the gloom.
Out on the swing I see springtime resume;
growth in the sunlight as overcast clears.
I look to spring when forsythias bloom;
Nature creates to embattle the gloom.
19 Lines (Villanelle)
Writer’s Cramp
February 27, 2014
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