Poet

I wandered through the seasons

as if my soul were soaring free,

throughout the hills and valleys

to find myself once more in spring.

Tis spring my favorite season 

where all life begins a new and

white trillium blanket the hills 

under skies of a gentle blue. 

Beneath the towering Sycamore 

where the waters shiver cold

the wind partners with the trees

as a gesture of what's in store.

Storms awaiting tomorrow 

wicked in their own way 

stretch across the mountains 

in clouds both dark and gray. 

The flowers began swaying

their blooms a bit frayed 

as a stark reminder that

this too shall pass away. 

I held onto my pillow 

my blanket I pulled tight

engaged into the moment

the poet in me took flight. 

Though winter is upon us and

spring just a thought away,

the solitude in which I dwell 

holds on to yesterday.