Held at bay through length of day, dismissed by early spring,
yet frost and cold deny there hold beneath sun’s burgeoning.
Splashing leaflets grace her locks poised in grace above the brook,
begging soft the warming soil with every sun beam’s kissing look.
Transfixed in subtle ether’s air, no time, no sense, no questions there…
She sings a psalm’s eternal phrase, caressing whispers through her hair.
Solely reverent angel she, held above the naked oak,
blushing green from what she feels and what the babbling waters spoke…
of ancient incantation, splashed in muse’s spell transpired,
so blessed her sensuous limbs adorned while others dream of hearth and fire.
Dancing in the hushing breeze, swaying arms and rolling hips,
smiling high above the stream, reaching with her fingertips.
Softly humming lullabies, dreaming of her summer’s play,
when long her hands entice the rill, casting rivulets with her sway.
Yet today at season’s cusp, she coyly courts the warming sun,
keeping watch o’er pebbled brook, softly singing to its run.
Showing all her subtle green that daylight’s length might love her so,
she stands to witness winter’s fade, waiting for the ones she knows.