52 Readings | 0 Ratings

Spring

A sparrow hops upon a twig
To reach the blossom, pink. I swig
The sunshine, greenery, and chill.
My blood hums brisk elation: still
Spring means I’m one year older. Well,
If happy, gray means cure. I shrug
At former cause of rage. Why lug
That misery? A sparrow hops upon a twig.
Posted 02/16/16
published in Cathedral and Highrise (Rose Alley Press, 2015)
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