When it seems like old man winter
will never lose his icy grip
dainty goblet-shaped Crocus
push through the melting snow.
Yellow, white and purple flowers
putting on their Easter finest
a colorful revival and early arrival
that fills us with new hope
welcoming the coming spring.
© Rebecca Sanchez 2017
Shared with Monday WRites for Holy Week and Poets United.
On a warm cloudless evening she meandered
through a field of lush spring grass littered with bluebells
her bare feet welcomed the soft dew drenched carpeting.
She came upon a deep clear pool reflecting an indigo sky.
Mesmerized, she watched points of light shimmering on the surface.
On closer inspection she she spied a crescent moon and
riding on that lunula there was a smiling man in a top hat.
She was positive the tiny man was winking and waving at her,
“I am the man in the moon!” He proudly proclaimed in a very big voice.
Startled, she awoke and found herself in bed in the thick of winter.
Nonplussed she smiled to herself in the darkness
drifting back to sleep perchance to dream of spring again.
© Rebekka Sanchez 2016
Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads.
The Inevitable Hump
Fall has fell with a thump
my mood remains in a slump
my ego is bruised with a bump
I’ve become an unreasonable grump.
My hair hangs bunched in a clump
these days I look more like a frump
I need to move outta this dump
I feel like a second-rate chump.
If I were insane I might jump
as my life has resembled a sump
but I can’t lay around like a lump
I must leap this inevitable hump.
Just the winter doldrums….