Gray Time
In that hour before dawn
when the world has no colors
and you cannot tell a starling from a grackle
or a sparrow from a chickadee
unless you hear their song
you still know they are back
from their southern sojourn.
In that hour before spring
when the maples, elms and sycamores
wear only their rumpled, hoary husks
by the first light of day
you can still see the outline of new buds
bursting from the tips of lilac branches
and know the trees will follow soon.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment