words

Springtime is a poet —
the blue sky its blank page
so vibrant green the rhyme
a different metre for every clime
birds chirping to keep the time
wildflowers yellow, red, purple divine
words dancing on tall blades of grasses
sparkling in the morning dew
no commas the flow keeps buzzing
vernal dashes & blossoming branches
on newly greening verdant trees
refrains whisper in each breeze
butterflies as floating apostrophes
ladybug-dotted question marks
a flourishing bloom at every stop
continuing a poem that’s never ended
and into summer’s colors is blended

—Terri Guillemets